A Little Trust, Goes A Long Way
by EpsilonPax
Summary: A/U: Set post Captain America: Civil War. Steve Rogers and what's left of the team are in need of cover. With their list of allies running thin, Captain Rogers turns to a General he knows too little about, for help. How will Rogers and the others cope with this General that is more than meets the eye, especially when a Decepticon threat emerges?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Just a brief note, this story will include my OC: Elena, please see my bio for more information on her. In this chapter she is only mentioned briefly, but she will be appearing in later chapters. This story was just an idea that insisted on being worked out, a little slow to start but things will become more interesting as more familiar faces-and frames-show up. Happy reading...**

 **Please R & R! Disclaimer: Hasbro / Marvel own the rights to their respective franchises and corresponding characters. **

**Now, on with the plot...**

 **# # #**

Really it was frightening.

Surprisingly frightening at how easy it would be to stay hidden in this lush and yet sterile paradise. True, T'Challa's fastidiously maintained facility was comfortable, but spending even the last few hours walking the well-polished hallways was a painful reminder this respite the Black Panther offered was merely that: a respite. Just borrowed time, a temporary lull until…until what? Stark and the United Nations sniffed them out and tossed them into a prison cell to be forgotten? Forgotten, of course, until the next world catastrophe.

The weight of their predicament, the one that he had forced them into, pulled at Steve Rogers, bit, and gnawed at his conscious to fix it, to find a solution. T'Challa was generous, but Rogers was unwilling to count on that generosity to last indefinitely. So, it was mere hours after he had watched Bucky succumb to the long and slow sleep, that Rogers found himself wandering the halls in search of quiet solitude. The problem was that now that he had found it, he was stranded once more in a mire of doubt.

Beyond the vast array of windows, the lush environment lay silently beneath a shroud of mist and water vapor tossed up from the waterfalls. But Rogers saw none of it, took no solace from the distant thrum of the nearby falls. Rather, his entire focus lay upon a single object trapped within his well-worn palm: his phone. Calloused fingers turned the device over and over, reluctant to summon it to wakefulness, reluctant to make _the_ call.

Why? Because Steve Rogers didn't like to ask for favors he knew he had no hope of ever repaying.

"Well, don't you certainly look like you're in the middle of a hearty guilt-trip."

As her voice reached out to him, Rogers couldn't help but smirk. His impossibly blue eyes lifted to gaze at her reflection mirrored in the windowpane before him, "Got anything better to do than spy on me?"

Natasha Romanoff's answering grin was wolfish, her reflection offering him a small shrug, "Not really."

A quiet and pained chuckle was the only answer he could manage for her.

"So…who are you trying to avoid calling?"

"No one you'd know."

"Really? You sure about that?"

"You're good Nat, but even you wouldn't have been able to stumble over this one."

"You certainly know how to flatter a girl, Cap."

"Don't I always." Feigning calm and ease, Rogers began to amble down the corridor, gaze restlessly drifting over the scenery beyond the wide windowpanes flecked with glimmering water droplets.

"Let me in, Cap. This isn't just your burden…we're all grownups here. We all made our choice, so stop thinking you made it for us."

"And you really believe that you weren't forced into this? That you weren't backed into this corner?"

She shrugged, "Maybe, maybe not…maybe all of this was going to hit the fan anyway. Either way…here we are."

"Here…right." The weight of the present pushed down upon him again, and once more his cell phone became a dead weight in his palm. Unbidden, his fingers began their restless movements of turning the small device end over end in his hand.

"So…" she let the word drag out, "Who are we avoiding calling?"

He gave her a hollow chuckle in answer. "Whom," He corrected.

She grinned wolfishly again, "Screw you Rogers." But never the one to back down she nudged his wide shoulder with her slender one. "C'mon Cap…"

He blew out another breath, why was this so difficult?

"Nat…you know we can't stay here, not with Bucky…it's too dangerous…"

"Okay, so what's the play? We all split for the four corners of the world, make for deep cover?" Nat didn't fear going solo; then again, Rogers found the list of things that did rattle her to be far from long.

"And risk being caught or unable to reestablish contact again? No…no, for once I think it's best we stay together…just not here. It's too dangerous…and if we were somehow tracked back here…" No need to elucidate the threat they all knew so well.

"Ok…so, where Rogers? I'm always up for an island getaway. You know it's never too late to work on a tan."

Her presence at last decided him and Roger's drew out his cell phone. Her eyes followed his movements as he scrolled through his contact's list; it didn't take long.

"Who is General Pax?" She asked, "High friends in high places?"

"Something like that…" He mumbled, wavering again.

"Rogers…" Her voice softened as she reached forward, her hand gently lifting to rest upon his forearm, "You always have a choice…we always land on our feet one way or another…"

"Yeah…one way or another…"

Her grip tightened, drawing his gaze to hers again, "If this is something you can't live with, then don't."

"I backed us into this corner, I should be the one to get us out."

"Over achiever…" She mumbled, shifting half a pace back and crossing her arms over her chest as she watched him select the contact name. Just before he hit 'send' his eyes lifted questioningly to hers.

"Oh no…I'm not going anywhere. You corrected my grammar, I get to eavesdrop."

Rogers knew better than to protest, not that he would have anyway. After all, this was her future as well as his that he was trying to salvage. Moreover, all too soon, Nat and the others would realize just how many secrets he had kept from them. Impulsively, Rogers extended the phone so it was between them and put the call on speakerphone.

For a few suspended moments, only the hollow ringing echoed between them, and briefly Rogers wondered _if_ he would answer…after all, it wasn't as though he called all the time to chat. And then…

"Captain Rogers."

That voice. Rogers would never forget it for as long as he lived. Rolling and rich, plush velveteen thunder—a timeless timber strong enough to move mountains. Rogers risked a glimpse at Nat, who lifted her eyebrows at the mighty voice, unearthly deep and steady.

"General." Rogers returned the solemn greeting, "I am sorry to bother you, but I am afraid I need your help."

"Captain, I am surprised it took you this long to contact me."

Rogers shouldn't have been surprised but he was, and he needed a moment to remind himself that no doubt the other would have kept a close watch over recent events.

"Look, I know that there are more pressing matters that demand your attention, and you may not even be in a position to offer anything—"

"What is it that you need, Captain?" The question was evenly and easily stated, no bite of impatience colored the other's words.

"My friends and I…we need to go off the grid…and being in a similar circumstance, I thought of you…and your kind."

There was a long and considerate pause in which Rogers breathlessly counted his heartbeats. And just when he began to believe that he had over reached himself…

"Captain, you were right to contact me. I will make arrangements and will contact you again shortly with details."

Equal parts relief and apprehension coursed through Steve in that moment, "General I appreciate this, but you should know that the odds of my being able to repay your generosity—"

"Such would be unnecessary. You, I believe Captain, would do the same for us. However…" the other's mighty timber became deep and bone rattling, "you understand the implications of your request?"

Rogers blew out a breath, feeling another weight being placed upon him, "Yes, sir."

"Are you able to accept it?"

A slower, but no less firm, "Yes, sir."

"And your team? Are they able to accept it?"

Rogers glanced over to Nat who lifted a brow, and gave him a curt nod. "I cannot speak for all of the team…but I can tell you that at the very least they will be willing to listen."

There was a long considering pause, but at last: "Very well, Captain Rogers."

Rogers bowed his head and released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "General?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you…"

"You may thank me by remembering this in darker days, when the rest of humanity forgets itself…" And with that, the other cut the communication.

"Hard to forget a voice like that…" Nat watched as Rogers once more pocketed his cell phone, "Who was that?"

Feeling both exhilarated and daunted at what lay ahead, Rogers bit back a sigh, "What do you know of extra-terrestrials?"

Nat lifted a fine shaped eyebrow, "Rogers, are you cavorting with aliens?"

"What would you say…if I said yes?" Allowing himself a chuckled at her confused expression, Rogers motioned for her to follow as he walked back down the hallway. "C'mon, we need to pack and let the others know we're moving out."

 **###**

Far, far from where Rogers and Nat stood, on the other side of the world, Captain William Lennox watched his companion closely. Though the other hadn't uttered a word, hadn't shifted an inch, the seasoned veteran could tell something was up by the sudden stillness that had descended upon the other. After many long moments, the other at last lifted his gaze—an unearthly, electric blue—to meet Lennox's.

"Major." That deep voice reached into Lennox's very bones, capturing his attention.

"Having a chat were we?" Lennox smirked, he had worked too long with his companion to not recognize when that vast intelligence's attention was elsewhere.

"Major, I will require a favor."

No hesitation: "Name it."

"I wish for the base to accommodate guests."

Surprised, Lennox cocked an eyebrow at the other, trying to read the other's inscrutable blue gaze, "Guests?"

"Six human adults."

"…o-okay." He regarded his companion's countenance carefully, "Friendlies?"

"That remains to be seen."

"So, not Hostiles?"

This time it was his companion who paused, "I do not wish it to be so. But, that too, remains to be seen."

"O-okay…how long are they staying?"

"That remains to be seen."

Lennox shook his head, and scrawled a note to himself on his clipboard, "I'll give Elena a heads up so she can work on accommodations."

"Thank you, Major."

"When are your…guests…arriving?"

There was a calculating pause, "Seventy-two hours."

"Oh…okay then." Putting the clipboard to the side, Lennox crossed his arms over his chest and gave into his curiosity, throwing caution to the wind, he asked: "Who are these guests of yours?"

"Major, what do you know of the individual named Steve Rogers?"

Lennox couldn't figure out a way to answer that, so he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

"You are free to stay…" T'Challa stood firm and steadfast before Rogers and the others. There was a slight hint of wry humor that turned the corner of his mouth up as he added, "…of course you are free to go as you please."

"We know…and we can't thank you enough for letting us trespass this long." Rogers held out his hand to the other.

Warmly, T'Challa grasped it, his deep voice colored with true emotion, "You are always welcome here."

"Thank you…"

They were interrupted by the sound of an approaching helicopter's blades cutting through the thick, humid air as it approached the helipad. Solemnly, T'Challa's dark gaze tracked it's movements.

"This General that is helping you...do you trust him?"

 _No._ "Yes." _Maybe…_

"Sometimes, a little trust is all that we need to survive…" with a curt nod, T'Challa bid them all a final farewell, before turning back toward the estate and disappearing within its confines. As the helicopter continued its approach, Rogers regarded his companions sternly.

"No one has to go" Rogers told them not for the last time, before the helicopter's roar could drown out his words, "If you want to stay…if you want to make your way on your own…you always have a choice."

Clint Barton smirked as he shared a knowing look with Romanoff, "Cap…we're here…we're with you."

Romanoff's smile bloomed wickedly, sarcasm dripping off her reply of: "After all…you promised me an island getaway to work on my tan."

Before Rogers could work up a snarky response, the helicopter swept away their words in the windy cacophony of its arrival as it landed. Scarcely had it touched down, when a soldier leapt clear and jogged easily toward them, head and shoulders bowed against the buffeting wind kicked up by the whirling blades. Not much of the soldier's features was discernible beneath the visor of his helmet but as soon as he was within shouting distance he snapped a crisp salute to Rogers.

"Captain Rogers, sir! It's an honor sir!"

"Thank you soldier." Rogers shouted back over the roar of the engine. He couldn't help but notice the mission patch on the soldier's uniform: a downward facing blade on a field of black, around which was written: _If I tell you, I have to kill you_. Doubt settled in the pit of his stomach. He had worked with black-ops before, but this felt different somehow.

"The General sends his regards. You and your team are to come with us."

Steve swallowed thickly, mouth dry, wondering if he had made the right choice. No help for it now. Hitching his bag over a shoulder, Rogers nodded briskly to the young soldier, and led Romanoff, Barton, Maximoff, Lang and Wilson toward the waiting helicopter—toward their uncertain future.

# # #

The ride was longer than Rogers expected it to be, and after the first two hours in the air, both Maximoff and Lang dozed off. Although they had comm-headsets, no one felt up to any sustained conversation. When the sun began to slant toward the horizon line, coloring the endless slate of ocean with its dying rays, curiosity began to at last win out.

"So, what's your name, soldier?" Wilson at last ventured.

While the soldier who had greeted them, and helped stow their meager belongings, didn't lift his visor, he nonetheless smiled in a friendly fashion. It struck Rogers then, that the soldier was younger than he first realized.

"Call me Stuart. My buddy Olsen is up front piloting."

"Nice to meet you Stuart." Wilson's tone was warm and genuine. He inclined his head toward Rogers, "I'm sure you've heard of Captain Rogers…I'm Sam, that is Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire; Natasha Romanoff, whose bark is just as bad as her bite; and our sleeping beauties are Wanda Maximoff and Scott Lang."

"Hard not to know who all of you are…it's an honor," Stuart replied, "We should be arriving at your new home away from home within the hour."

"Appreciate it, soldier." Rogers at last spoke up, "Just out of curiosity, how long have you served under the General's command, Stuart?"

"Long enough to know no one could ask for a better commander, sir."

"What's he like? We in for any nasty surprises?" Barton chimed in.

Stuart smiled again, "Best to let you decide for yourselves, that's what the General would want anyway. No disrespect, sir."

Barton's answering smile was tense, "No disrespect," he echoed.

When the lonely chain of islands did at last come into view, the sun was beginning a rapid descent into the horizon line, burnishing the waters beneath them a liquid bronze. Within moments they had left the ocean behind and flew over the island proper, but to Roger's surprise, Olsen bypassed the cluster of buildings he pegged as the central campus for the base, overshooting the landing pad.

"General's request." Stuart was quick to explain before any of them could voice a question or protest, "he wanted to speak with all of you first."

"And we couldn't do that at the base, why?" Barton asked. But for the first time, Stuart ignored him, setting his gaze beyond Barton, watching as Olsen expertly landed the helicopter on the dry grass below. With a clang, Stuart pushed open the door and motioned for them to disembark with haste.

When they had stepped clear of the helicopter's whirling blades, Stuart turned to Rogers, "Captain, if things don't go as expected, we'll be back to pick you up."

"If things don't go as expected?" Rogers shouted back.

"You'll be alright, sir. You can trust the General." Stuart gave him a final salute before ducking back into the helicopter.

"Where the hell is he going?" Wilson shaded his eyes to look up at the departing helicopter.

"So that was our ride? To an empty field somewhat near a random military base on an island, somewhere in one of the world's oceans?" Lang spread his arms up in defeat, "Congrats, we're off the grid folks."

"Lang…" Barton's gaze was fixed at a point over Roger's shoulder, "You're only half right…this isn't an empty field." Rogers turned to see that Barton was right, aside from the sandy, flattened grass and a few stubby bushes, there wasn't much in the field…except for a single pillar that extended from the ground at a slight angle.

"Well okay," Lang corrected, "A field with a random—" he squinted in the fading light, "—pillar in it. Still doesn't help much."

From where they stood on the grassy knoll, it wouldn't be a far trek, and before Rogers could respond, Romanoff struck out down the field toward it. "Nat…" Barton's hesitant call reached out to her in warning.

"I'm not standing around in the middle of a field and I'm sure as hell not sleeping in one tonight." She called back to them. Decided, they followed her example, as Barton drew up beside her, she muttered, "Obviously, this General wanted us to see whatever that is. The sooner we do, the sooner we figure out where we are, what's going on and where we get to sleep tonight. Although if you care to share your master plan Rogers, that'd be lovely."

Rogers could only offer in response, "I'm sorry...but at this point I know just about as much as you do." Her answering look spoke volumes of how much she didn't believe him at the moment.

As they approached the 'pillar', the silence between them thickened, and the knot in Roger's stomach twisted uncomfortably as he realized what it was. Fearless, Nat strode straight up to it and rapped her knuckles on it, "Well…it's metal."

"…and it's not a pillar." Rogers walked in slow circles, taking in every angle. It towered over the group a full 18 feet, casting a long shadow over the dying grass. Nat was right, it was metal, but unlike any metal he'd ever seen before. Its thick layers were deeply scratched and scarred, but clearly not from weather. Strange runes extended the full length of it, from where it emerged from the earth to its zenith which loomed high, high above them. It's top winked in muted shades of red and blue. On impulse, Rogers shrugged off his iconic shield, having kept it close, unwilling to pack it discretely away with his other battle gear. It came free easily, and with one fluid motion Steve slipped his arm into the well-worn straps, the familiar weight settling him. With a purposeful stride forward, Rogers brought his full strength to bear and slammed the shield against the metal object. There was a shower of sparks where the shield struck it, and the resounding clang momentarily deafened the group.

"Hey Cap," Barton gritted his teeth against the pain, "A little warning next time would be grand."

"Steve…" Wilson pointed to the shield, moreover he pointed to the deep scratch that had appeared in its previously unblemished surface. Stunned, Rogers stepped forward to inspect where his shield had struck the metal structure: nothing, not a scratch marred the otherwise worn surface. His mind reeled as he looked back down at his shield, the scratch defiantly marring its otherwise mirror bright polish.

"Guys…" Lang, who had lingered a few paces behind them, now spoke, "I think it's a sword."

Beside him, Wanda rolled her eyes, "Good job, Sherlock."

"Hey, c'mon, I'm tired, I'm dusty, I don't know where I am…and when was the last time you saw a sword that big?"

"I'm not sure I want to know what manner of being can wield this thing." Wilson's voice was tight with concern.

"Maybe it's not a real sword?" Lang offered, "Like a sculpture of the sword in the stone? The one that no one can pull free?"

"A sculpture of the sword in the stone. Out here. In the middle of an empty field. In a secret military base. On a classified island. In the middle of the ocean." Wilson blinked slowly, "Are you serious?"

Roger's swallowed thickly, "That metal is not from earth." Slowly he knelt, examining the earth around the sword's base. Fresh, and black in the growing gloom of the twilight, Steve pressed a hand to it, rubbing a few grains between his fingertips, "...and this is not a sculpture. It's real and it hasn't been here long. The dirt is fresh, and still moist; this was recently put here."

Barton carefully reached out and thumbed one beveled edge, "This is wicked sharp, too."

"Steve…" This time it was Romanoff who spoke up in warning, her shoulders tensing as she spotted a lone approaching figure. She slowly reached behind her and beneath her jacket for what Rogers knew would be a concealed weapon. Not that there would be any real need for it against one stranger: they were six of the most highly trained operatives. Even unarmed, they were a force few could match.

From behind him, a voice rolled forth: "Good evening, Captain." It carried the strength of mountains in its rich timber and all at once Rogers knew who at last arrived to greet them.

"General Pax..."


	3. Chapter 3

Rogers turned slowly to face General Pax, marveling how they all had somehow failed to notice not only his approach, but also the arrival of the hulking semi-truck parked patiently not twenty yards away from where they stood. Hard to miss such a distinctive truck with its brash and brazen layering of red and blue flame detailing. Mildly, the General met Roger's gaze capturing it with his own; Steve couldn't help but notice the man had the most intense, unearthly blue eyes he had ever seen. Clad in a crisp, black dress uniform, Rogers didn't need to try to count all the commendations and medals that were pinned over Pax's heart to know the man was no stranger to combat or military operations on a grand scale. But he was taken aback by the silver at Pax's temples, by the lines of care too many hardships and losses had etched into the man's still handsome countenance. Pax had aged since Rogers had last seen him four years ago. Patiently, he waited for Romanoff, Barton, Wilson and Lang to move closer toward him. When they had done so, grouped in a loose semi-circle, he turned that unearthly gaze upon each of them. Rogers had the distinct impression a judgement was being made about all of them.

"I apologize for the unusual gathering. However, I felt for your own sake, that this would be a more appropriate location for our first meeting." That piercing gaze was leveled back at Rogers, "Captain…I take it you briefed your team on the basic parameters of the situation and of what is expected of them."

Roger's couldn't bring himself to look away from Pax, "Not exactly." Again, he had the distinct impression a judgement was being made, but what it was, Rogers could only guess at; the General's expression gave nothing away.

"You, I am sure, will have questions. So, allow me to answer perhaps some of the most pressing. You are currently in the Southern Pacific Ocean, on the island of Diego Garcia," the General began, "This is one of the many bases the brave soldiers of N.E.S.T. call home."

"N.E.S.T.?" Wilson asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Instead of directly answering him, General Pax regarded Rogers again, expectation in his gaze. It had been a long time since their first meeting, but Rogers still remembered. Tearing his gaze away from the General he looked toward the others, "N.E.S.T. : Non-biological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty." His explanation was forced, each word pulled from him with the understanding that they would realize he had secrets of his own.

Romanoff's smirk was tight and did not reach her eyes, they were flat and calculating, "Cavorting with aliens, Rogers…"

"That didn't work out so well for Loki, Steve…" Barton muttered.

"Wasn't he an alien, too?" Lang asked quietly, "…so an alien working with different aliens…on earth?" he puzzled it out.

"This is different…" Rogers spoke over him. He wasn't entirely certain of how he knew, but instinct whispered that he could trust Pax. Memories from his previous meeting with the General echoed back to him as if from a great distance. At the time, he thought he had a good measure of the man, and while he certainly had secrets of his own, there was something different about him, something that registered as more genuine than someone like Nick Fury could ever be.

"Yeah, how?" Barton fired back, "I'm sure as hell not going to forget the Chitauri anytime soon."

"This is different…"

"The Chitauri are a violent race, and singled-minded in their desire for war. They are certainly not the gravest threat to your planet and its people," the General explained.

"'Your plant and its people'," Wanda echoed, not missing the pronouns, "not, our planet and our people?" she spoke carefully, "Are you not human, General?"

"Earth, is my home just as it is yours."

Rogers couldn't help but smirk at the tidy verbal sidestep the General so neatly took. Barton didn't miss the fleeting expression of amusement, "We missing the joke, Cap? By all means, please, fill us in."

" _Enough_."

There was no arguing with that bone rattling pitch in the General's voice, "Captain Rogers has informed me of your ability to listen. I suggest you do so."

Silence reigned.

"I will offer you nothing less than the truth. Here, there reside beings that eclipse the Chitauri in stature and strength. Here, there are dangers, real and constant. But you are not _in_ danger. Ours is an oath to defend and to protect the freedom of all sentient beings from the clutches of tyranny."

Lang's gulp was audible, "Ours?"

"You always have a choice. Such a choice I am offering to you now, it is why I wished to speak with you here, away from the base and the unit, to give you time to make your decision. If you decide you cannot accept what I am about to reveal to you, I will ensure you safe passage from here, to another N.E.S.T. location, one that is only inhabited by humans. Unfortunately, because of its proximity to other cities, it is not as secure from the prying eyes of Tony Stark, however."

A start of surprise rippled through the group at hearing Tony's name, however the General took it in stride, "Yes, we know of Stark."

"Okay, just to be clear…there are aliens here, yes?" Lang cut straight to the point.

The faintest of smiles, ghosted across the General's mouth, "Such a fear you have of such a simple word. Many of you here are aliens, are you not? Many of you belong to foreign countries or nations; it is all a matter of perspective."

"Hmmm, not really…no…" Lang shook his head, "I'm a simple kind of guy, so I like to keep things simple. I'm thinking alien as in not from Earth. So, it's a simple question: from Earth, or not from Earth?"

In reply, the General moved toward where the sword had been driven into the earth and the group split, shifting to give him room to pass. His gait was unhurried and steady as he moved to stand before the towering weapon, regarding it solemnly for a moment. Tucking his arms behind him, stance squared in true military fashion, he pivoted to face them, standing in the shadow of the sword. "This is a good sword, it has endured through countless battles, many of which, more than you may realize, were fought on behalf of Earth. It has slain many, but never…never has it spilled human blood." One by one, the General met each of their gazes, "Remember that…remember our oath to humanity…to all sentient beings…"

"And what oath is that?" Romanoff asked.

In answer, the General looked to her, then to Rogers—and his form winked out of existence. Stunned, like his companions, Rogers instinctively spun as the approaching growl of an engine echoed over to them.

"An explanation would be grand right about now, Steve." Romanoff snapped, tensed for an attack as the truck headed for them.

His brain hurt, struggling to process the fact that the General he knew, the one he had met those long years ago—did not exist. Sure, he had seen some incredible tech over the years—after all, he, himself was the result of innovative scientific endeavors—and he had seen some of the projections Stark could cook up in his labs, but nothing that felt so real as this. Hadn't he even shaken the General's hand at that meeting four years ago? What hologram could do that? Before he could offer Romanoff any semblance of an answer, the truck provided one for him. Approaching rapidly, it drove directly toward them, but it scarcely had covered half the distance when it defied their understanding of physics and their understanding of the world around them—again. With another mighty growl from the engine, the semi-truck _shattered_. Instinctively, they recoiled, staggering backward at the sudden rush and movement. Steve's shield instinctively snapped up to cover Romanoff, who stood closest to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of red as Wanda summoned a hasty shield for her and Sam. Just discernible above the din, Rogers heard Lang's exclamation of, "Oh _, shit_!" as he and Barton dove for the ground.

Folding simultaneously outward and inward at impossible hinges, in an unearthly cadence the semi-truck reassembled itself, elucidating limbs, torso, broad intimidating shoulders and, at last, a helmeted countenance with burning cerulean optics. Fluidly, the truck-but-not-truck moved, bringing its armored fist down with enough force to cause the earth to roll beneath them, rippling away from the point of impact. Those eyes, electronic and impossibly blue, pinned down Rogers for a long, uncomfortable moment before slowly, it stood to its full intimidating height of 28 feet. And then it spoke.

"My name is Optimus Prime."

It was the General's voice, but where it had once been delivered at human volumes, it now ushered forth undiminished at its natural intonation. His words, spoken in that velveteen timber rolled through them, rattling their very bones, "…and I have sworn an oath to humanity." With impossible strides, Optimus stepped forward—ever mindful of each stride so as not to inadvertently injure anyone—and grasped the hilt of his sword. Easily he pulled it free, gripping it before him with the blade angled down, the hilt fitting perfectly in his hands and matching his vivid coloring, leaving no doubt that this mighty weapon was indeed him. Placing it before him, he gripped the hilt in both fists, the end of the blade held suspended before the earth, with Optimus bearing it's full weight. "I defend and protect the freedom of all sentient beings from the clutches of tyranny." Deliberately, Optimus slowly lifted the blade and sheathed it behind him, beneath an equally impressive shield, offering them no direct threat. He knelt once more before them, resting one great forearm over his knee as he waited for them to regain their feet and collect themselves.

"Captain Rogers," Optimus beckoned after a few moments and obligingly, Rogers stepped forward, moving closer than his instincts deemed safe as he stood before the titan. Out of courtesy, Rogers slowly followed Optimus' example and returned his shield to his back; with relief, he noticed Wanda drop her shield as well.

"Please, accept my apology for my deception. But I felt you would be more comfortable conversing with my holographic form for our first meeting."

Slowly Barton approached as well, Romanoff and Lang beside him, "You weren't kidding…you're definitely bigger than any Chitauri…"

"Yeah, and I'm going to go with not from Earth either." Wilson added, falling in step beside Wanda as they reformed a semi-circle, a cautious distance away from where Prime knelt in the worn and beaten grass. Around them, the rich aroma of soil rose, kicked up from Optimus' transformation and his mighty footsteps, it spilled over the grass like black gore.

"What are you?" Wanda asked, her tone surprisingly calm and collected. Her initial shock was wearing away into acceptance as she began to reprocess what she knew of the world and its inhabitants. Rogers glanced over to her, whether or not she felt his gaze, she kept her own on Optimus; she, at least, would listen before coming to her own conclusions.

"I am an Autonomous Robotic Organism from the planet Cybertron. You may refer to me as an Autobot."

"Autobot." Rogers tried out the name, "Isn't that the species General Pax…you…warned me about four years ago." He didn't dare risk a glance over at Romanoff, who's own gaze was filled with flint and ice, he could feel similar looks from the others.

"No, Captain. I warned you about the Decepticons, who are Cybertronians as well, and our mortal enemies. It is they who threatened your world."

"Does anyone really have mortal enemies?" Lang mumbled.

Barton looked at him, "Right now you do…we all do, it's kinda the whole reason we're in hiding."

"Yeah but my mortal enemies don't want me dead," Lang countered, "they're the kind of mortal enemies that just want to put me in jail for a really long time. So, all in all, not that bad." He glanced up at Optimus, "But…I mean you seem to be the type that would have mortal enemies, I mean why else would you need the really big sword?"

Romanoff stepped forward, ignoring Lang, "You said threatened, as in not anymore?"

"Recently, I terminated the leader of the Decepticons." Optimus replied, "While a few of his followers still remain on Earth, my Autobots and I have been working with your military to hunt them down."

"There's more of you?" Barton asked just as Rogers spoke up, "When we met, you told me you were here because of unfortunate circumstances…if you followed the Decepticons, why were they here in the first place?"

"That is a tale, perhaps best heard from another. There is a human on base…" here Prime paused for the briefest of moments, and Rogers thought he could detect a note of true affection in his deep intonation, "…my friend… Samuel Witwicky…perhaps he is better suited than most to explain everything to you."

"You told me you were not a threat to us," Rogers continued. At the time, he hadn't understood General Pax's pointed comment, but standing before his true form, Rogers struggled to accept as much. Here was a being that was truly a walking weapon, a leviathan of untold strength. How could he not be a threat?

"I am no more a threat than you are, _Captain America_." Optimus answered, flicking his gaze to each of them, "or perhaps no more of a threat than your assassin, the Black Widow, or you Ms. Maximoff with your rare abilities. To your governments, you are just as dangerous, just as much of a threat, as I am. Each of you have tremendous strengths and abilities that make you dangerous. But it is what you _choose_ to do with them that makes you a threat. As I said before…it is all a matter of perspective."

His words hit home, and a thoughtful silence descend on the group. Isn't that why they were running, why they were forced to hide? They had risked their lives for the sake of humanity, had saved the Earth from certain destruction…but because they were dangerous, they were treated as nothing more than walking weapons. Rogers looked up at the alien countenance as recognition dawned: perhaps they did have something in common. A walking weapon, indeed…

"The choice is before you now. To accept my kind and to understand we truly mean you no harm. Do so, and you will be welcomed here, in this safe-haven, for as long as you need it."

"And if we cannot accept it?" Rogers asked knowing the answer already, but wanting the others to hear it aloud.

"If you cannot accept it, I will contact Corporal Stuart and he will return to pick you up and take you to another N.E.S.T base. You will depart with no animosity between us, and no harm will come to you."

By this time, the sun had finally slipped beneath the horizon line and the shroud of night descended upon them. Optimus' brilliant blue optics winked down at them, two twin stars, "Might I suggest you come to your decision sooner rather than later, as I understand you must be weary from your long journey here and in need of rest." His tone gentler, though just as firm, Optimus slowly stood, "I will leave you to make your choice as you wish. Take what time you need. I will wait." Just a handful of the Autobot's ground eating strides carried Optimus out of what Rogers hoped was earshot. Promptly, he transformed back into his terrestrial guise, to presumably wait for them. On a slight hill, the red and blue semi-truck parked, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired, giving no indication of its true form. Rogers didn't doubt for a moment that somehow, Optimus was still watching them carefully. Just as they needed to make their own decision about the Autobots, Rogers had the distinct impression that Optimus was making his own about them.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well…that was fun, kids." Lang rubbed his face and finger-combed his hair.

"Cap…I think right now, we need to hear from you," Barton crossed his arms.

"Steve, you know I got your back," Wilson fisted his hands on his hips, "but, we need to hear explanations…where did you meet this guy?"

Rogers blew out a breath, they deserved answers. "When I met him…I didn't know he was an Autobot. Honestly, I didn't know he was this Optimus Prime…He was introduced to me as a high-ranking General…I had no way of knowing he wasn't human."

"The truck didn't clue you in?" Barton quipped.

"Hard to see a truck from the inside of a conference room," Rogers replied tersely.

# # #

 _It was a familiar one, he'd been in this conference room plenty of times before with his fellow Avengers. With the dust beginning to settle since the attack on New York mere weeks ago, Steve had to admit he hadn't been surprised in the least when the call from Nick Fury came._

 _"Steve, I need you to come by for a chat." The Director told him tersely on the phone._

 _"Everything, all right?" At the time, Rogers hadn't been concerned, Fury had sounded more annoyed than worried or upset._

 _"Always. We just rattled some cages, I need you to help me assure the powers-that-be the big, bad kitty cat isn't going to eat the little birdie inside."_

 _But when he entered the conference room, it had been empty. Figuring that he was early, Rogers hadn't seen a problem making himself comfortable; Fury had followed shortly afterward. With a mild greeting, Steve had leaned back in his chair—which squeaked annoyingly—and looked at Fury questioningly._

 _Nick had smirked with a slight shake of his head, knowing what questions brewed within Steve, "Cap…do you know what it means to compartmentalize?"_

 _Rogers nodded once._

 _"It can help things run a hell of a lot smoother, it can help accomplish a lot more. Nobody spills the secrets, because nobody knows them all."_

 _"It's also a great way to lie to everyone. To keep people blind, while you pull the strings." Steve clenched his jaw, "If you don't share, the team can't function properly…people don't trust each other."_

 _"Steve, there are some secrets you don't need to know, some secrets that you should know, and some that you don't want to." Fury had told him then._

 _"Which is this, Nick?"_

 _"The kind you don't want to, but the kind that you should."_

 _As if on cue, the conference door opened silently. The woman who entered was trim with beautiful ivory skin and a shock of red hair that was tamed in a tidy bun at the nap of her neck. Her business skirt and matching blouse were monochromatic, but it made her four-inch metallic blue high heels stand out. She looked down severely at Fury from behind black rimmed glasses._

 _Fury indicated towards her with a hand gesture, glancing back towards Rogers, "See…I'm sharing," he commented before addressing the woman. "Director O'Connor." Fury leaned against the back of a chair, but made no move to greet her or sit. "Always nice to be told when I'm going to invite you over. Oh, look, you brought a friend this time."_

 _Close at Director O'Connor's heels strode a man clad in a flawless, black military dress uniform. Countless medals and commendations were pinned over his heart sending the message loud and clear he was no stranger to combat. Judging by his broad shoulders and athletic build, he could probably hold his own on the front lines as well. He captured Steve's gaze boldly with uncanny blue eyes. Though he seemed to be about fifteen years or so older than Director O'Connor, his face was still handsome, and clean shaven with neatly cut black hair._

 _Elena stepped back, allowing him to stand easily beside her, "Director Fury…Captain Rogers…allow me to introduce General Pax."_

 _General Pax moved forward, extending his hand to Steve, who rose from his seat and accepted it without hesitation, "Captain Rogers," General Pax intoned solemnly, his voice inhumanly deep, with a plush velvet undertone and his piercing blue eyes alight with an inner mirth, "it is an honor to me you." The hand that captured Steve's tightened for a brief moment—letting him feel the callouses that came with a lifetime of hard work—before letting go._

 _Taking him for another General that saw him as nothing more than Captain America, Steve gave him a perfunctory smile, "It is nice to meet you, General Pax."_

 _"What did we do this time, Director O'Connor?" Fury drawled, clearly unimpressed as he cut introductions short._

 _Elena's grey gaze was flinty: "Fury, your team destroyed one of our bases in New York."_

 _Again, Fury didn't seem overly concerned, "Let me know where it is, I'll send a clean-up crew."_

 _"You do not have the clearance to know its location." General Pax told Fury, that mighty timber clipped and sounding anything but pleased._

 _"Fury." Elena tersely placed her clipboard down, "Your team destroyed one of our bases and let an—" She flicked her steel grey eyes over to Pax before answering, "—asset out of containment."_

 _"Did you catch it?" Steve inquired, apprehensive at the idea of a top-secret military asset out loose among the public._

 _Elena opened her mouth to reply, but General Pax beat her to it, "That is classified, Captain Rogers."_

 _Fury chuckled to himself and at last took a seat, "What do you want me to do about it, Elena? You won't tell me what you're hunting, and you keep my team in the dark and banned from your battle fields. Has it ever occurred to you, we might actually be, gee I don't know, helpful?"_

 _"Nick, as long as Stark is on the team, you know why we must keep the Avengers in the dark."_

 _"Tony can handle himself in any fight," With effort, Steve kept his tone even._

 _"My team would not—work—well with Stark." General Pax was firm, "I cannot require them to face combatants and watch their back at the same time for a threat within."_

 _"Tony's no turn coat." Steve snapped._

 _"Maybe not, but he is an opportunist." Elena spoke evenly, before turning back to Fury, "Nick, consider this a warning. You need to keep your team in check and stop them from interfering with mine."_

 _"How can we know when we're poaching if there isn't a do not enter sign posted?" Fury countered._

 _Apparently, it was an old argument, for Elena merely sighed, "No, Nick. I'm not giving up the location."_

 _"I could always find out on my own."_

 _"You could try." Elena smiled sweetly back._

 _"Alright, alright, listen. We'll do our best to avoid your turf and keep out of your way." Fury cleared his throat, "Listen, if we're going to do that, we need to bring at least some members of the team up to speed. That way if an incursion happens, they know how to cope with it."_

 _Clearly, Elena and General Pax had been expecting this, for neither of their expressions showed surprise. "I'm glad you chose sensibly." She told Fury, indicating Steve, as she took a seat. Steve felt mildly annoyed that everyone else in the room apparently knew what was going on except him._

 _Elena turned to address Steve directly, "Captain Rogers, what do you know about aliens." She asked mildly._

 _"Considering what happened in New York, more than I wanted to before."_

 _"Captain, the universe is a vast place." Pax told him._

 _Reading between the lines, Steve nodded, "There is enough room in the universe for more than one kind of alien." He shrugged, "General, there was a time when I couldn't have dreamt up this conversation, but now, this is not news to me considering where Thor and Loki are from. They may look human, but technically, they're aliens, too."_

 _Apparently, this answer pleased Pax, "Captain, there is another race of intelligent beings, far older than the Chitauri, and that have been here for centuries."_

 _That made Steve sit up._

 _"The race I speak of are called Autobots that come from the planet Cybertron." The General's voice was even and calm, "what you must understand is that the Autobots are not a threat to humanity. They pose no danger to Earth and its people," here he paused briefly, to let his words sink in, "but the Decepticons do." He nodded curtly to Elena, who produced a photo from a stack of papers captured on her clipboard. This she slid toward Steve across the polished table-top, who cautiously took it. The image, though slightly blurry, showed a mass of sharp angles and edges and a looming, robotic countenance twisted in a snarl, with burning red eyes. Steve's stomach twisted at the sight of the metal monster: this was what they were up against? It was massive…_

 _He felt afraid to ask, but knew he must: "What is this?"_

 _"That," General Pax's voice deepened, filled with shadows and midnight, "is the Leader of the Decepticons…Megatron."_

 _Aghast, Steve looked up at Pax, "And he's here? On Earth?"_

 _There was a considering pause, before Pax answered, "Yes."_

 _Steve blew out a deep breath, "Alright…so what do we do about it—him?"_

 _"You, don't do anything," Elena told him, "Megatron is our problem, not yours and certainly not the Avengers."_

 _"Captain Rogers," the General's intonation captured Steve's attention, "You must leave Megatron to the Autobots. Only they and N.E.S.T operatives are equipped to handle the Decepticon threat."_

 _"N.E.S.T.?"_

 _Elena explained, "N.E.S.T. is our elite strike team, so named after the Nonbiological Extraterrestrial Species Treaty."_

 _"Captain," General Pax called to him again, "while we are sharing such highly sensitive information with you, this is not for any other member of your team. This is classified information and it is your responsibility to keep it as such. It has been given to you and to you alone, on a need to know basis. There is more at stake than mere national security. Do I make myself clear?"_

 _"General, with all due respect, I've been in the game probably just about as long as you have—" at this brash pronouncement, both Elena and General Pax shared a fleeting look, as if sharing a private joke, but Steve elected to ignore it, "—I understand how to handle sensitive information."_

 _"Captain Rogers, there is more to the situation than meets the eye," Pax murmured._

# # #

"So Fury knew?" Barton asked.

"I don't know how much more he may have known, but I do know he learned the Decepticon Leader's name that day." Rogers replied with a sigh, "But yes, he knew about the Autobots."

A thick silence descended over the group, broken at last by Romanoff, "So you've carried this knowledge in your back pocket since the beginning."

"Yes. I just didn't understand the scope or significance of it at the time. We've been pretty busy since then and I think the only reason they were comfortable letting me in on their secret, was in case we did accidentally stumble on any of it, I would have at least had some recognition of it."

"Actually, it's a miracle we haven't heard of any of this until now," Wanda reflected.

"Not really…did you see General Pax's disguise? Would you have been able to peg him for an alien?" Wilson countered.

"Optimus." Rogers corrected him.

"What?"

"General Pax is his disguise. His real name is Optimus Prime."

"Right, okay fine. Either way, it looks like he has this whole hiding in plain sight routine down pat."

"So, they've been here for centuries?" Wanda asked.

Rogers crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling very, very weary, "From what he said…I suppose so. But you'd have to ask him." He blew out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "So, what's our move?" he asked cautiously, "Whatever we decide, I think we need to do it together. Either everybody stays, or everybody leaves."

"Safety in numbers," Lang offered.

"I don't think numbers would help a whole lot if we had to face Optimus in battle," Wilson muttered.

"It won't come to that." Rogers was firm.

Romanoff lifted an eyebrow at him, "You sure about that?"

 _No._ "Yes." Rogers looked at all of them in turn, "He gave us his word that he and his kind are not a threat."

"Are you saying we should trust a 28-foot-tall killing machine?" Lang asked.

Steve took a deep breath, "Yes."

"Oh." Lang answered, "Oh…okay then. Just wanted to be clear."

# # #

Blearily, Lennox rubbed his eyes, resting his elbows on his desk. Stifling a yawn, he looked down at its impeccably cleaned surface. For the last few hours he had been prodigiously productive: finishing the last of his paperwork, cleaning out his desk drawers, hell he even sharpened all his pencils and arranged them according to size, for Primus' sake he'd color coded his pens. He was running out of things to do. Absent mindedly, he drummed his fingertips on his desk, thinking. Well, he could reorganize his files…again.

A chuckle reached his ears and he looked up to see his long-time companion smirking over at him, "All outta stuff to do?" Epps asked him.

Lennox returned his smile, but sobered quickly enough, "I didn't think it would take this long."

Standing and tossing the car magazine he was pretending to read aside, Epps rolled his shoulders to ease the ache, "It is, what it is man. They have a lot more things to consider than we do."

"Optimus can be intimidating…" Lennox mused aloud.

Epps snorted, "Yeah, Big Man can be scary at times, but I really don't see _Captain America_ being intimidated by anyone."

"Then he hasn't seen Optimus royally pissed off before," Lennox pointed out, "Remember the bridge…the look on his face when he killed Megatron…" Both he and Epps fell silent, recalling the sight, how unrecognizable Optimus had looked that day.

Epps recovered first, dismissing the memory with a rough sigh,"True, but he's normally pretty even tempered, so it's all good. Besides, you're focusing on the negative. They haven't seen the other side of the Autobots either, like when they're around Annabelle."

At the sound of Lennox's daughter's name, there was a cheerful chorus of chirps and whistles from the yellow Camaro parked a handful of paces away. With an enthusiastic cadence, Bumblebee dropped his terrestrial guise and moved to kneel beside them, his optics bright and happy.

"Bee…you're not supposed to be walking around, you're supposed to stick to your car mode." Lennox cautioned him.

With a brief buzz of static, Bee answered him through the drawl of John Wayne, " _Aint nothing to be bothered about, partner_."

Epps grinned and moved to join them, leaning comfortably against Bumblebee's shin, "Hey man, when is Annabelle coming back to base?"

Lennox leaned back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head, "Well…before all this hit the fan…she was supposed to fly out sometime tomorrow, so that would put her on base the day after…but with everything going on, I was thinking of canceling."

Bumblebee emitted low moans of protest, his wing-like doors drooping. Excessively he widened his optics and gave Lennox the saddest 'puppy eyes' he could manage.

Lennox pointed at him, "No, Bee! Don't even try it! The puppy eye routine doesn't work on me anymore! Not since you and Sam got those last few speeding tickets."

Bee warbled in sorrow and shuttered his optics in an over exaggerated blink as he brought his head down closer to Lennox's eye level.

"Damnit, Bee…don't do that." To save face, Lennox opened his desk drawer under the pretense of looking for something, anything, beside looking at Bee.

Epps snorted out a laugh before retrieving his car magazine again. Idly he flipped through it, "Hey Bee…I know you like the Camaro, but have you ever considered one of these?" he asked, indicating a collage of vibrant Lamborghinis.

Listening to both of them squabble over cars soothed Lennox as he opened his file drawer. Contented to wait for however long was needed, he looked down at the files: well, he could try ascending alphabetical order this time…


	5. Chapter 5

As the evening crept on, slowly the stars began to emerge, dotting the inky expanse of the heavens like handfuls of scattered diamonds. In the gloom, it was difficult to walk without tripping, but thankfully they didn't need to walk far. Moreover, just when they had set off in the direction of the semi-truck, the area was flooded with light from the vehicle's headlights. With gravel crunching softly beneath his tires, Optimus drove toward them, stopping a mere handful of steps away, only to throw his terrestrial guise to the wind and assume his natural form. Once more, he knelt, forearm resting comfortably over his knee, his countenance bowed low. He did not speak, but merely waited and watched them, his optics tracking their movements with soft, nearly inaudible clicks.

Stepping forward, Rogers stood before him, taking the full weight of that unearthly gaze, "Optimus…trust cannot be given, it must be earned."

Still the Autobot remained silent.

"That being said," Rogers continued, "All of us appreciate and accept your generous offer."

"I am pleased to hear it, Captain. Welcome to N.E.S.T." Fluidly, Optimus transformed again, caught so close to the flurry of movement, Rogers couldn't help but stare in profound awe. Heartbeats later, the looming blue and red semi-truck once more stood before them. Silently, the doors opened, beckoning, "Let's roll out."

There was but a beat of hesitation before they approached. Aware of every movement, one by one they took a seat within the surprisingly spacious cab. Having helped Wanda step up into the truck, Steve had lingered, allowing all of them to take a seat first, unsure if there would be enough for all of them. But seeing there was no issue, he quickly came to realize his error, now there was only one seat left: the driver's. As politely as he could, Rogers sat down and before he could reach for the door it closed gently on its own accord. _Right,_ he corrected himself, _alien truck._ Once settled, that left him with another problem: the steering wheel. Should he drive? Could he even operate the controls? Would Optimus expect him to drive? Or would it be rude to try? Unsure, Steve hesitantly lifted his hands holding them before the wheel.

"Um…"

"There is no need, Captain," smoothly Optimus' voice issued forth from the speakers, diminished as Pax's had been, "I will handle the driving."

It was the most unnerving sensation to sit in the driver's seat, feeling the vehicle move seemingly undirected and watching the steering wheel turn of its own accord. To help distract himself, Steve glanced around the inside of the truck-but-not-truck, his stomach managing odd flips as it occurred to him that he was sitting _inside_ an alien. But credit where credit was due, the Autobot's sense of mimicry was impeccable: from the grain of wood in the highly polished steering wheel, to the radio, even the leather seats smelled like real leather. If Optimus hadn't moved or spoken, there was no way Steve would have known this wasn't an ordinary truck.

From the back row, Wanda politely remarked, "Optimus…your seats are very comfortable."

"Thank you, Ms. Maximoff. You are kind."

Admiringly, Lang ran a hand over the smooth wood paneling on the dash, "You really do have a knack for the attention to detail thing…"

"It is a necessity, one that at times our very survival depends upon," Optimus explained.

"Oh…well, in any case, job well done." Lang cleared his throat, "So, can you change into any vehicle you want?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Really? Like even a Ferrari?" Wilson asked, interested.

"I could not mimic a form so small." Optimus answered mildly, "It would require too much shifting into the fourth and fifth dimension to be comfortable or practical. However, there are Autobots who enjoy such forms. Dino elected to take the mode of a Ferrari 458, while Sideswipe is most comfortable in the guise of a Stingray Corvette."

Lang couldn't help but chuckle and exchanged a knowing look with Wilson, "That's so cool…I wanna hang out with those guys." Realizing what he said, he quickly sat up straighter, stammering: "Not to say anything against you Optimus…I mean your truck form is very nice…real top-quality paint job, too. I mean who doesn't like flames? And red and blue are great colors, just ask Cap…I mean we just met, but I'm sure you're perfectly pleasant to be around with, too…I mean so far you have been pleasant, not to say that you wouldn't be…"

"There is no need to be concerned," Optimus spoke over his rambling, "There is no offense taken. I have witnessed first-hand humanity's preference for flashier vehicles."

"So, not all Autobots come in the same size?" Barton asked in an effort to change the subject for Lang's sake.

"You are correct."

As they conversed, Rogers found his gaze pulled back to the steering wheel, his interested caught by the embossed silver emblem that adorned it. Without realizing it, he lifted his hand, idly tracing the raised edges of the geometric facial design as he considered it.

"That, Captain…is the Autobot insignia," Optimus told him. Promptly, Rogers pulled his hand away, forgetting that no doubt Optimus could feel every movement he made.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" he trailed off uncertain, and found himself wondering if there were any vehicles on base that weren't Autobots; that might make getting around a little less complicated and a lot less awkward.

"No need to apologize, Captain. It is important that you remember our emblem."

"Why?" Wanda asked, leaning forward, looking over Rogers' shoulder.

"Because it is our designation. You will know any Autobot by it, and so know a friend from foe." Optimus' tone became somber, "So too do the Decepticons have their own insignia. This I will show you so that if you ever come across it, you will recognize the danger of its bearer."

With a soft yawn, Wanda leaned back against her seat; the cushions were so soft and welcoming, it was hard to keep her eyes open. All at once, the seat moved beneath her, tipping back into a comfortable reclined position, startled by the unexpected movement, she sat bolt upright.

Optimus reassured her: "You may sleep if you wish, you are safe, no harm will come to you here."

"I…don't want to be rude…" Wanda glanced over to Romanoff, who had also reclined her seat back and was looking decidedly relaxed in a sleepy sort of way.

"You would not be the first human to do so here."

"Well…" she murmured, resting her cheek against the leather-but-not-leather cushion, "…if you insist."

# # #

Even the tint on Optimus' windows couldn't keep out the glare from the spacious hanger's lighting as he pulled into the bay. The sudden shift from the natural gloom of the evening to the blare of artificial illumination roused the team from their various stages of dozing. All of them leaned towards the windows, eager to catch a glimpse of their new home away from home.

It was like driving through the most eclectic car show ever. There were neatly parked rows of army regulation jeeps and various assault vehicles—these Rogers eyed with a mix of relief, figuring at least one of them was probably an ordinary car. But as they neared the far end of the hanger the show began in earnest.

A bright green and white ambulance was first, and there was no missing the Autobot emblem on its tall sides; then there was a sleek sliver Stingray Corvette, as they passed it, Rogers thought he heard Romanoff murmur, "Hello friend…"; next, a low, deep red Ferrari; an acid green Chevrolet Trax and metallic orange Chevrolet Beat, both heavily decaled; and at the very end of the neat row, parked strangely close to a cluster of desks, was a vivid yellow Camaro with twin, black racing stripes. As they drove through the hanger, the Ferrari and convertible Corvette revved their engines in a deafening cacophony, rocking slightly on their slick wheels in their enthusiasm.

Wilson chuckled at the sound, though muted through Optimus' windows, they could still feel the vibrations of the competing engines throughout the cab, "Is that an Autobot greeting?"

Optimus sounded pleased, "One of many."

Beside the desks, the yellow and black Camaro took up the chorus, adding to the roar that resounded off the hanger walls. Grimacing at all the noise, Lennox and Epps moved to stand beside Bumblebee. After a moment or two, Lennox lightly rapped Bee's hood with his knuckles, "Easy Bee…you're going to blow our eardrums and they won't be able to hear our hello."

With a final roar, Bee quieted his engine, Dino and Sideswipe following suit. With a chirp, Bee added with a soundbite, " _Jealous?"_

Epps chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, we get it Bee, you guys sound cooler when you say hello than we do." Beside him, Bumblebee chirped and clicked a happy cadence.

Lennox couldn't keep a schooled solemn expression any better than he could keep back the boyish grin as he watched Optimus Prime pull to a graceful stop and Captain America himself, step out from the driver's place. His stomach did a giddy flip when he caught sight of the iconic shield on the Captain's back.

Epps grin nearly took in his ears, "Do you think he drove?"

Lennox lifted a brow, "Do you think Prime would actually let him?"

They watched, impressed at their own level of calm, as one by one the Avengers stepped down from Optimus' cab: Wanda Maximoff, Sam Wilson, Scott Lang, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanoff. It was sight neither soldier would soon forget.

Lennox stepped forward, offering a hand to Rogers, who gripped it firmly. The super-soldier towered over Lennox, "Captain Steve Rogers," N.E.S.T.'s human commander spoke formally, "Welcome to N.E.S.T."

 **###**

 **A/N: I hope, dear reader, you are enjoying what is my first cross-over fic ever. Thank you so much for reading, please, if you like the story, don't forget to leave a review; I always enjoy and appreciate hearing feedback!**


	6. Chapter 6

Their N.E.S.T. accommodations were clean and comfortably familiar as they struggled to reorient themselves among staggering truths. Even the mess hall, with its surprisingly decent breakfast, was so typical to be almost bland; it gave no indication of the base's larger purpose and hidden secrets.

"Morning, Captain Rogers!"

Obligingly, Steve looked up from his plate of eggs towards the speaker, when he recognized him, the smile he offered was genuine, "Stuart…nice to see you again, soldier."

"I'm glad I ran into you, sir." Stuart told him, Major Lennox wanted you and your team to join him in the Autobot hanger after breakfast." When Rogers made a move to stand, Stuart quickly amended, "There's no rush, sir. You'll find that around here, we can be a little more relaxed about some things."

Rogers nodded, "Thank you, Stuart. We'll be there shortly." Just as Stuart turned to depart, Steve called out to him, "Um…Stuart?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Where is the Autobot hanger?"

# # #

Epps leaned his back against the railing from where he stood, several stories off the floor, on the three-sided scaffold structure that dominated the back of the Autobot hanger. He watched Lennox and Elena comb through a file, thoroughly, but unhurried.

"Think they'll say yes?" Epps finally spoke up, as he watched Optimus enter the far end of the hanger in his terrestrial guise.

"Hmm?" Elena spared her husband one fleeting glance.

"Training. Think they'll want to train with us and the bots?"

Giving up on the paperwork, Lennox left it to Elena as he moved to stand beside Epps. The familiar metallic cadence reached their ears as Optimus transformed, moving to join them, standing before the allotted space in front of the structure. The Prime reached forward, gripping the top rail next to Epps in his mighty fist. Lennox reached forward banging a fist lightly atop Prime's knuckles in greeting.

"Considering who they are and what they can already do…" Lennox mused, glancing from Epps up to Prime's noble countenance, "…I think it would only be beneficial. I mean consider it…what would happen if they came across a Decepticon and we were all on the other side of the world? They should know how to take one down…at the very least they should know about basic Cybertronian biology and weaponry now that they're here."

"What do you think, Prime?" Elena crossed her arms as she stepped toward him, her lemon yellow high heels clicking softly as she walked. In response, he slid his battle mask into place with a soft metallic ring. Recognizing the movement as one of his idiosyncrasies for when he was feeling frustrated, uncomfortable, or particularly displeased, Elena sighed, "Prime…we discussed this already."

"I am not without reservations about educating them about Cybertronian biology and weapons capabilities," He rumbled.

"You really think they'll use it against you and the others?" She asked folding her arms across her chest.

"You cannot ignore such a possibility. Once given, it is hard to assure each of them would use such knowledge for the greater good and not self-gain. To many, a captured Cybertronian—alive or otherwise—would be an incredibly illuminating and beneficial science experiment."

"C'mon Big Man…" Epps didn't bother to disguise his frustration, "We're supposed to be building bridges, making friends—"

"Capable warriors they may be, but they are _not_ N.E.S.T. personal and are not eligible for the same privileges that N.E.S.T. personal are."

Epps wasn't ready to back down, "You can't really think that Captain America of all people would ever sanction—"

"He is not the standing authority," Prime's tone was clipped and left no room for argument: "and your government would have done as much to Bumblebee before the battle of Mission City had not you and Sam arrived in time."

Lennox blew out a breath, "Prime…we're just going to have to trust Rogers and his team."

"Such did occur to me."

# # #

Perhaps it had been because they were so weary the night before, but Barton was convinced the Autobot hanger had somehow doubled in size since they had last entered it. This time, the hanger was devoid of the collection of most of its vehicles: the Corvette, Ferrari, emergency vehicle, even the yellow Camaro were all gone. But Rogers and the others didn't have long to dwell on the notable vacancies, as their attention was pulled to the end of the hanger and the imposing scaffold structure. Not just because they could see Epps, Lennox and Elena up on the platform already, but simply because of who stood in front of the structure. With a soft sigh of servos, Optimus Prime angled slightly toward them, aware of their approach. Rogers couldn't help but notice that Prime's countenance looked different now. Where before he could see Prime's facial features, now steeply angled plating shielded his expression from view, making his vibrant blue gaze all the more inscrutable as he tracked their approach.

As they drew up nearly beside Prime, Barton whistled softly in admiration, "It is just me, or does Prime look taller?" He murmured. Rogers was hard pressed to argue with Barton; the daylight chased away any concealing shadows that could have obscured Prime's true stature. The deep blues and brilliant reds shone in a rich, lustrous hue now. Even the formidable blade strapped across his back gleamed with a silver-blue sheen, looking wickedly sharp. As Rogers and the team carefully ascended the narrow stairs, Optimus shifted back towards Lennox and Epps, his gaze returning to them once more. On the platform proper now, Rogers and the team was face to face with the Autobot, far closer than they had been the night before—or rather closer than when he had been in his true form.

Nervously, Lang cleared his throat, "Is that a new look, Optimus?" He motioned to the plating that now concealed the Prime's face, "It…it umm, suits you…wow this platform is really high…"

Standing so close to Optimus, Elena reached up easily and rapped her clipboard against Prime's facial plating with a hollow clang, " It's his battle mask, he can use it to shield his face during combat…or when he's cranky," She smirked. Optimus narrowed his optics in annoyance.

"Hey now, if I were Big Man I'd be annoyed, too." Epps defended him, " I mean how many times does he need to say no for them to believe him or stop asking?"

"Has something happened?" Rogers asked, risking half a step forward.

"Yes and no…" Elena sighed, "nothing out of the ordinary…just another squabble with the United Nations…I know you know what that feels like."

"Preaching to the choir," Romanoff smirked, "What happened? What do they want?"

"What they always want…" Elena sighed.

"Our weapons technology," Optimus explained, his voice pitched low with his displeasure.

"Don't worry, it's a fight we're well equipped to handle…we've managed to keep the United Nations from taking the technology legally for almost ten years now." Elena sounded confident, "But the paperwork does get annoying…and now we have another fire to go put out…Prime, care to join me?"

Tipping his great helm toward the group in a wordless farewell, Optimus stepped back to allow himself enough room to transform. While he did so, Elena carefully descended the stairs, when she reached the last step, he was already waiting, his driver's side door open for her.

Lennox looked back to the group, "Don't worry about it…honestly, Elena and Optimus know how to handle this situation."

"He didn't look too happy about it," Rogers pointed out.

"It's just another burden for him to bear, along with everything else."

"Everything else?" Romanoff asked.

"Well yeah…Optimus doesn't just share command of N.E.S.T., but he is the Leader of the Autobots as well." Lennox explained.

"Don't forget the last of the Primes, and bearer of the Matrix of Leadership," a younger voice spoke up. Jumping up the last step, Sam Witwicky squeezed past Barton and Wilson to find room on the platform. He stepped back looked from the gathered group to Lennox and Epps and back again, "Holy shit, it's really you guys…"

Lennox greeted the young man warmly, "Avengers…meet Sam Witwicky."

There was something immediately likeable about Sam, and after introductions, he effortlessly asked, "Wanna take a walk?"

As they struck out away from the main hanger and into the morning sunlight, Sam hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, "Kinda nice to get away from all that? Makes your head spin trying to process it all."

Falling in stride beside him, Wanda smiled, "It's a little overwhelming."

"Yeah, I know what you mean…when I found out the car my dad had bought me was really an intelligent alien robot, I freaked. Next thing I knew, I was pitched into the middle of an alien war and all I wanted to do was pass my English class with an A- and find a girlfriend."

"Optimus told us last night that he felt you were better suited to explain a few things to us," Rogers told him.

Sam chuckled, "Did he? Well I suppose he thought you'd like a break from all of the strangeness, and hearing it from a fellow human might make it easier to cope with."

"So, how long have you worked with the Autobots?" Rogers asked as they began what would be a surprisingly long circuit around the campus.

In response, Sam gave him a boyish grin, "How much time do all of you have?"

"I'm going to guess and say at least all day," Romanoff smirked.

"Oh, good. We'll need it, 'cause it's a long story…"

 **###**

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! Please R &R!**


	7. Chapter 7

Despite the fact that Rogers and the team were still reeling from their meeting with Sam, Lennox did not waste any time to meet with them briefly again to take them to their long term quarters. While Rogers and Wilson would have been perfectly content to stay in the barracks with the rest of N.E.S.T. personnel, Rogers recognized that Lang and Maximoff would probably be more comfortable in more civilian accommodations. So, Lennox escorted them to a cluster of small, but comfortable houses that were typically used as guest accommodations for visiting diplomats or when a soldier's family came to stay. Generously, a small house had been reserved for each of them; Rogers and the team spent the rest of the morning settling into their new quarters, located across the compound, further removed from the central Autobot hanger. After a mildly satisfying lunch, the team was offered their first real opportunity to interact with the Autobots. Since their arrival Rogers had to admit, he was actually looking forward to the encounter with the aliens.

Stuart and Olsen took them out to the practice fields—in non-transforming vehicles—and when they arrived at the open grass lands the sun was rapidly progressing to the uncomfortably hot stage, and the drills were already underway. As with many facets on base, Lennox oversaw the exercises. There was an array of stubby buildings in various stages of destruction, and a network of scaffolds, it was around these that a handful of N.E.S.T. soldiers were clustered. Lennox stood comfortably at the front and beside him was parked the gleaming yellow Camaro.

Lennox nodded his head in greeting as the team joined the group, many of the soldier's shifted to the side to let them stand closer to the front for a better view.

"As you know, it is incredibly hard to get a kill shot by just going for a Decepticon's spark directly; the armor is thickest there and it nearly impossible to penetrate without heavy ordinance. Even our standard issued Sabot rounds can't crack it without multiple direct hits. So," he paused, scanning the group, "what's your best strategy for bringing a 'Con down if there isn't an Autobot around to give you back up?" As he spoke, Lennox surveyed the Avengers from behind his dark sunglasses, noting the way many of them kept glancing expectantly over to the yellow Camaro parked beside him. All of this was common knowledge for the N.E.S.T. soldiers, but for Rogers and the team it would be staggeringly new. Subtly, Lennox shifted, resting a hand on the well-polished hood of the yellow Camaro, taking comfort from its solid presence. Lennox couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow betraying Optimus' trust by sharing such valuable intel: there were countless foreign governments that would kill for even that tidbit he had just offered so casually. Beside him Bumblebee chirped quietly, drawing his attention back to the moment.

"Take out it's optics," one soldier shouted.

"Go for the ankle struts," another supplied.

Lennox nodded, pleased with his troops, "Both are correct. Most Cybertronians have similar weak spots in their armor." He shifted to regard the Camaro, "Bee…if you wouldn't mind."

With a chorus of electronic chirps, the yellow Camaro split apart, and in moments the yellow Autobot stood before the group. His wing-like doors perched jauntily on his back, and the small twin panels on his head, twitched like antenna. When he caught sight of Rogers and the group he eagerly stepped forward, his giant steps, while not as large as Optimus', kicked up puffs of dust in the thick heat of the afternoon. Cheerfully, he waggled his fingers at them in greeting. With a chuckle, Rogers instinctively waved back, noticing he wasn't the only one to do so.

"I like him," Wanda said quietly, returning the Autobot's wave also, "He seems so friendly."

"Bee?" Wilson asked, "As in sting like a Bee?"

A nearby soldier answered, "For short, yeah. His full name is Bumblebee."

"Witwicky's friend, right?" Barton asked.

"His guardian." The soldier answered, "and best friend, yup."

"Doesn't seem like a bad idea, having a friend like that." Romanoff muttered.

"Alright," Lennox's voice rose above theirs, "Who can identify possible weak spots on Bee that would be the same on a Decepticon?"

"Here, major!" A voice called out, a tall blonde soldier stepped out of the group.

"Thanks, Olsen."

Fearlessly he walked straight up to the Autobot, "How's it going, Bee?" he murmured a quiet greeting before closing the distance between them, "here…here…and here…" he answered pointing first to a section on Bee's ankles, then to his knee joints and another at his hip joints. "Oh, and optics, as well as the throat and back of the neck." As he listed off the areas, Bee angled better for each section so they could clearly see. Through it all, Lennox took note of the calculating way that Rogers, Wilson, Romanoff and Barton were appraising Bumblebee; they would be quick to process this information, and in no hurry forget it. Again, that uneasy feeling settled in Lennox's stomach, as if he were betraying Prime somehow.

Shaking it off, Lennox cleared his throat, "Now…in a city, always go for high ground, do not waste time trying to get under a Decepticon first, trust me, they'll just step on you unless you already have the drop on them. So, today I want to review a drop-down drill, I don't want anyone getting sloppy. You get sloppy, you're toast in combat, got it?"

"Yes sir!" came the resounding chorus.

"Good, we do this in pairs, so partner up. Remember, we're using blanks for practice. No live rounds."

Lang's eyebrows shot up, "Live rounds?"

"Don't worry Tic-Tac, you'll be fine." Wilson reassured him, "We're using blanks, so no harm no foul."

Lang looked less than enthusiastic, especially when another soldier approached and handed him a safety harness for climbing.

"Just a precaution, sir." The soldier told him, "in case you lose your footing. It can happen."

"Lose my footing?" Lang asked, fear spiking the syllables, "What am I climbing?"

In answer Bumblebee chirped a happy cadence and gave Lang a thumbs up, his bright, baby-blue optics friendly.

"Well…okay…then…" Lang breathed, "Just climbing a robot today, climbing a walking, talking killing machine, no problem."

The N.E.S.T. soldiers were efficient and moved with the familiarity of a well-worn routine; they had done drills like these many times before Rogers realized, this was an ordinary day of training for them. When another soldier approached Romanoff with a safety harness, she lifted an eyebrow, "Oh I don't think so," she waved it away. But before she could protest further, Lennox approached them.

"Not the best fashion accessory I know, Ms. Romanoff." Lennox told her, his tone flat, but Rogers could hear a genuine note of concern within it, "But it's harder than it looks. Besides, this is more for their piece of mind than yours. This way, he can focus on your technique without having to worry about you getting a limb caught under one of his panels or falling and getting hurt."

Without protest, Romanoff took the safety harness.

Rogers noted that as the soldiers donned their gear and prepped their weapons, that Lennox was joining them.

"Not one to sit things out." Rogers commented dryly.

"I don't ask of anyone what I wouldn't do myself." Came the even reply. As Lennox shifted away, moving to help hand out weapons and organize the group, Rogers looked back toward the team. Without surprise, Barton and Romanoff stood ready, side by side, long accustomed to their working cadences, it made sense they naturally gravitated toward one another. When Rogers' gaze met Wilson's, he subtly inclined his head toward the nervous Lang. At the unspoken request, Wilson sauntered over to Lang, "Need help Tic-Tac?"

Left with only one other option for a partner, Rogers joined Maximoff offering her a practice rifle. When she hesitated, Rogers spoke: "I know…but at least for now, I don't think using our abilities openly would be a good idea. Besides, you need to be comfortable using weapons."

"Okay, Bee." Lennox called to get the Autobot's attention as much as the soldiers. No longer mixed in with the group, he now stood atop one of the scaffolds; because they were built at a height meant to make conversing with Optimus easier, the structure towered over Bumblebee. On the opposite structure, the soldier named Olsen stood at the ready, with another soldier behind him holding his safety line.

"Give us your best Decepticon, Bee!" A soldier shouted out from the group, and a ripple of laughter moved through the collection of seasoned fighters.

Ever enthusiastic, Bumblebee bobbed his head in agreement. He crouched down, and held his arms and hands out in what Rogers supposed was an aggressive stance, as if he was preparing to draw invisible guns from his sides. This was accompanied by a clip from _The Good, The Bad and The Ugly,_ and the old western shoot-out tune echoed over to them. Again, the soldiers' responding laughter rolled through the group, helping to dissolve the tension.

Allowing them to enjoy the jest for a few moments, Lennox didn't object immediately. Fighting to conceal his own grin, Lennox called down to the Autobot, "Alright, Bee. Let's be serious now."

With a consenting nod, Bee straightened up, sliding his battle mask into place. Lifting his arms again, he smoothly transformed them into his plasma cannons, bringing them online with a thick and warm hum. Bee then began to slowly advance between the twin scaffolds where Lennox and Olsen waiting, his heavy steps sending spirals of dust into the air as he moved. Beside him, Roger's heard Wilson exhale sharply as he absorbed the sight of a fully armed and battle ready Autobot. Gone was any semblance of the playful antics from mere moments before; it cemented the realization that Bumblebee was a warrior, first and foremost.

Just as Bumblebee stepped between the scaffolds, Lennox and Olsen moved, their leap from the structures perfectly timed and in unison they landed on Bumblebee's shoulders, just above his wing-like doors. Letting their momentum carry them, Lennox and Olsen crouched on the Autobot, gripping onto the first panel they could reach with one hand, while they brought their riffles to bear with the other. Even as Bumblebee spun, attempting to dislodge them, Rogers heard the _pop, pop, pop_ as they fired blanks at the base of the Autobot's neck. Reacting as if he had been actually struck, Bumblebee sank to his knees. Without pause, Lennox and Olsen jumped over the Autobot's shoulders, twisting in midair as they fell, their descent slowed by the safety lines. As soon as their backs hit the dirt, Lennox and Olsen's rifles snapped up again, the staccato of their rounds aimed first for Bumblebee's optics then his exposed neck. All of this was completed in mere moments, with well-practiced motions. Rogers found himself wondering if their ease came from the familiarity of the drill or from the familiarity of combat.

Gracefully, Lennox stood, offering a hand to Olsen. With a congratulatory nod to his partner, Lennox faced the group, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. "Alright, you know how it's done. I want lines, weapons prepped, ready to go. You have forty-five seconds, move!"

Watching the soldiers train with Bumblebee was unlike anything Rogers had seen before. After witnessing the more practiced soldiers take their turn, it didn't take someone with Barton's Hawkeyes to see how much the soldiers trusted the yellow Autobot; there was true comradery between them.

As the afternoon wore on, the drills progressing rapidly enough that Rogers and the team found themselves almost becoming accustomed to the sensation of walking on Bumblebee's shoulders…almost. Freed of the constrains of the safety harness, Rogers found scaling the tall Autobot to be a much easier task. On the last run, Rogers vaulted over Bee's shoulder to land easily on the dusty earth, trampled flat by Bee's heavy tread. Landing on his feet rather than his back gave the super soldier a distinct advantage as Rogers spun, his practice rifle snapping up even as he retreated; a quick sight through the scope and the succession of _pop, pop, pop_ signaled another successful run.

From above him on her place on the scaffold, Romanoff grinned wolfishly down at him, "Show off."

It was as he returned her grin that he heard the smattering of applause from the gathered N.E.S.T soldiers. Rising above him, Bumblebee retracted his battle mask and chirped cheerfully. Rogers turned just as Lennox approached him.

"I don't think I've ever seen anyone complete a take down like that, or that quickly." Lennox's smile was genuine, "Can't say I'd expect anything less from you, Captain." Before Rogers could respond to the compliment, the rapid blaring of a car horn directed Lennox's attention elsewhere. Collectively, they looked for the source of the sound just as a dusty—non-transforming—jeep pulled up. At the wheel was a familiar face: Epps. In the passenger seat was a young girl, bright blond hair shinning in the heat of the afternoon sun, her glacier clear blue eyes reflecting undulated happiness; she couldn't have been a day over six. Scarcely before Rogers or the others could process the child's unexpected appearance at a military base, and just as Epps pulled the jeep to a stop she launched herself out of the jeep, running as fast as her little legs could carry her.

"Jelly belle!" Lennox called in shock and joy at seeing his daughter so suddenly. Too bad for him, Bumblebee moved first. With his ground eating strides, Bee easily closed the distance and at his approach the little girl swerved not away from him as Rogers would have expected, but rather straight toward him with a joyous shout of: "Bumbee!"

Bumblebee leapt forward, his large hands closing over her, swallowing her completely from view as they engulfed her tiny body. With a chorus of whistles and chirps he tucked into a tidy somersault.

When Bumblebee first moved, Rogers and beside him Wilson, Lang, Barton and Wanda had tensed, fearful that the alien robot would indeed attempt to pick the small child up. When those large, crushing fists closed around her, Rogers' heart thudded against his ribs and Wanda gasped, fearful that in his hands the fragile girl wouldn't stand a chance. But calm and collected, Lennox hadn't even flinched. Quite the opposite in fact, as Rogers noted the ripple of chuckles that echoed through the gathered soldiers.

Muttering rather loudly, "Fine child, I'm only your father," Lennox jogged over to where Bumblebee somersaulted ever so carefully with his daughter, her cheerful cries of, "Again! Again! Again!" was music to the soldier's ears.

With a piercing whistle, Epps sauntered over as well, thumbs hooked into his belt loops as he sought to get the Autobot's attention: "Heya Bee! How 'bout we give Lennox a turn with his sparkling?"

"Sparkling?" Lang mouthed, at a loss in more ways than one.

Apparently, Lennox's daughter agreed as she patted the broad fist that held her so carefully, "We can pway later BumBee, wan down now peas!"

With a series of happy _click click chirrup whistle clicks_ Bumblebee obliged, standing up properly as he lowered the little girl back down to the earth. Once again at a safe height from the ground, she leapt off Bumblebee's wide palm—straight into Lennox's waiting arms. Allowing father and daughter time to say hello—Lennox rarely saw his daughter these days—Epps addressed the N.E.S.T. troops: "Break time boys. Head on in, get somethin' cool to drink, and take five."

As the troops dispersed, Epps moved to join Rogers and the team, his expression impossible to read behind his gleaming gold aviator sunglasses. "'Sup, Cap. How'd the drills go with Bee? First time training with the bots takes some getting' used to."

Beside him, Rogers heard Barton bark a quiet chuckle, "Yeah, you could say that."

Still eyeing the yellow Autobot carefully, it dawned upon Rogers that his understanding and experience of 'normal' was an altogether different definition from what N.E.S.T.'s personal had. Their interactions with Bumblebee and Lennox's daughter's clear affection for the Autobot had caught him entirely off guard. Judging from his companion's expressions, he was at least comforted to know that he wasn't the only one struggling to understand just who and what these titanic beings were. As they belatedly followed the soldiers on the trek back to the hanger, Rogers felt it might just be time for another conversation with General Pax.


	8. Chapter 8

_"_ _I've seen that look in your eyes…_

 _Cuts me deep, the secrets and lies_

 _Storm in the quiet_

 _Feel the fury closing in…_

 _Nowhere to run from all of this havoc_

 _Nowhere to hide from all of this madness…"_

 _(Ruelle, "Madness")_

 _The voices chased him, a bitter and cold flurry as biting as the ice and snow that swirled around him._

 _"_ _There is a bit of green in the blue of your eyes…how nice to finally find a flaw…"_

 _Flaws…flaws of a hundred decisions and revisions…choices he couldn't unmake…_

 _"_ _You lost someone…"_

 _"_ _I lost everyone…and so will you…"_

 _Loss was a familiar companion, an old friend now. The snow thickened, forms of grey ghosts emerging with the voices. Another voice echoed over to him, faint at first then rising in its intensity, its biting anger snapped and sliced at him._

 _"_ _You've been an idiot. I've been trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."_

 _Tony. It always came back to Tony. His once-friend stepped from the cacophony of the snow storm, his gaze colder than the air around him, cutting and cruel; there was no sympathy, no compassion within his gaze, not anymore. "You've destroyed the Avengers…you've torn us apart…your judgement is skewed…"_

 _Instinctively, Rogers struggled against the torrent of ice and wind, trying to shout over the storm; if only Tony would hear him, would listen, they could fix this rift and make the Avengers whole again. But the wind and ice tore his words away and Tony disappeared._

 _"_ _Steve, you know what's about to happen."_

 _Natasha's gentler tone now rose above the storm. Filled with shadows and midnight, her expression was as reproachful as it was sorrowful. She knew he was at fault, it was his choices that had led them here and had forced them down this path. She shook her head, "Steve… Do you really want to punch your way out of this one?"_

Steve sprang out of bed, clawing and tossing the covers aside, he was on his feet without consciously making the decision to be so. Slowly the fragments of the dream fell away from him as his brain finally grasped the reality of the moment. It was early morning, the cold of the tile floor biting at the bottom of his bare feet. He was alone in an unfamiliar and unadorned room. Steve shut his eyes, roughly pressing his palms against them as the weight of his surroundings slowly took on significance, took on meaning. N.E.S.T. He was in the accommodations N.E.S.T. had provided them.

Stretching and willing cold muscles awake, Steve found his way through the small dwelling Lennox had given him. Changing into comfortable black running pants and a charcoal grey short sleeve workout shirt, Steve finally shook off the last remnants of his dream as he knelt to tie his shoes.

Closing the front door behind him, he noted with mild curiosity that there was no lock on it; then again, it wasn't like he had a key anyway. His gait was even and unhurried as he followed a path he had stumbled upon earlier that led down to the beach. As the concrete yielded to sand, Steve took several deep breaths of the morning air. The sky above was a rich pre-dawn periwinkle, all around the world still slept and the base was silent. Turning his back to it, Steve set the ocean on his left and broke into a gentle jog heading away from the compound.

Now if only he could out run the guilt that his dream had stirred anew.

When he finally slowed—when had he broken into a headlong sprint?—the horizon had been brushed with pastel pinks and oranges, a gentle announcement that the day had at last begun. Fisting his hands on his hips, Steve took several deep breaths, allowing his heart rate to decrease. That was when he noticed it, a small footpath that led away from the beach into the rolling hills that stretched inland. He was far from the base now, the warehouses and hangers long faded from sight; wherever he was on the island, he was far from headquarters. In no hurry to return, Steve on impulse followed the path upward and away from the shore; at the very least he would get a great view of the sunrise from atop the hill. It surprised Steve at how steep the path quickly became, but after only a few short minutes of climbing, he reached the summit.

Here, the view was indeed spectacular and the ocean glimmered far below him, heavy and blue-black, awaiting the arrival of the sun to warm its depths. Turning away from the horizon, he surveyed the hill, realizing that it had been unnaturally leveled, it's even surface stretched away from him, further than he would have anticipated. In the faint pre-dawn glow, he could just discern a long row of vast stone slabs that rose a foot or so above the earth. Curious he stepped toward the first one, taken aback by its immense size. At first glance, it appeared to be bare, but as he approached the far end of it, he could see there was an inscription upon it. Squinting in the gloom, Steve angled for a better look at what appeared to be rows of foreign runes etched into the stone. Beneath the unrecognizable markings there was another inscription, this one in English. In crisp and simple letters, it read: _Ironhide._ Beneath the inscription was a relief etching of the Autobot logo, the sight of which served to vanish any further doubts of the significance of this place.

The slab pulled at him, filling him with an oppressive weight, although he wasn't immediately sure why. It was then that he noticed a handful of candles, their wicks twisted and extinguished from the morning breeze. Along with these a collection of wilted flowers had also been placed at the head of the slab. Despite its distance from base, the sandy grass had not been allowed to grow rampant around this slab, the area was well cared for, there were no errant weeds here. Steve turned away from the first slab, moving slowly down the row, pausing at the head of the other stones to read the English inscription upon each of them: _Jazz, Jolt, Arcee, Chromia, Elita-One, Jetfire, Wheeljack._

Some slabs were longer and wider than others, but all of them were far larger than any human. But what took Steve aback was the quantity of the slabs, there were far more than he could wrap his head around. Pausing at the last slab, he placed his hand on the cool stone, idly running his fingertips over the alien runes. That first weight that had descended over him as he had read the first inscription had deepened as he had walked among the other stones. He had been in far too many graveyards to not recognize one when he saw it. But this was not a human cemetery, the beings that had been laid to rest here were far, far from home. But it was the number of stones that kept pulling at him: there were so many. Slowly, mindful now of what was placed beneath each slab, Steve made his way back along the rows, toward the first marker. His eyes traveling across each stone, re-reading the names, noting the collections of mementos left by each, tributes that had clearly been placed by human hands.

Steve did know how long the aliens had been on Earth, but he could see that it was clearly long enough for these beings to forge lasting and meaningful connections with the humans of N.E.S.T. Contemplating the implications of such, and rolling his shoulders to release the tightness that had settled in his muscles, Steve started as he looked up, freezing mid-step, realizing that he was no longer alone. Before the first marker, knelt Optimus Prime, his intensely blue optics shining poignantly in the faint pre-dawn light, like two stars that had fallen to Earth.

Marveling at how silently such a titanic being could move, Steve could only wonder how long Optimus had been there. Knowing that the other was probably all too aware of his presence, Steve saw no reason to remain where he was and chose to cautiously approach the other. Stopping a polite distance from the Autobot Leader, Steve remained silent, watching the Prime, who kept his optics upon the marker before him.

When Optimus at last spoke, his mighty timber was low and fiercely gentle, "Ironhide was my oldest friend." He told Rogers, "He knew me long before I became Prime, when I was the humble construct known as Orion Pax."

Steve smirked knowingly as the pieces began to fall into place, "General _Pax_."

"A reminder of what I once was before Primus remade me into Optimus." At long last, Optimus shifted, his optics alighting upon Steve, "You see I did not lie to you Captain Rogers. The name I gave you at our first meeting was not a false one."

"I appreciate that…I do." Steve told him, regarding the other just as seriously. Following a hunch, Steve took a cautious step forward. Even with his brief time on the base, he had seen how confident and comfortable so many of the soldiers were with the Autobots, none of them showed any fear or hesitation when in close proximity with the aliens. Memories of the previous day, of Annabelle's bright laughter and beaming smile, of Lennox's easy demeanor as he watched Bumblebee pick up his tiny, fragile daughter flashed before Roger's mind as he looked back at Optimus now. There was real trust, real affection that was shared between the two species.

"Optimus…the Autobots…can any of your lie?" It was a hunch that had stuck with him since Rogers had first met Prime, the real Prime that is, not his hologram of General Pax.

"Like any sentient being, we have the ability to do so." Steve was standing close enough to hear the soft metallic click as Optimus blinked, and to feel the reverberations of the other's mighty timber. The super-soldier caught himself wondering if such a human movement was necessary for the alien or if perhaps it was an adopted idiosyncrasy to help humans relate or feel more comfortable within the Autobot's presence.

"So, you can then?"

Optimus paused for but a fraction of a moment before answering, "Yes. However, Autobots choose not to. It is what separates us from the Decepticons." Prime narrowed his optics lowering his countenance closer to Rogers, who had to will himself not to step away from the other. After all, if Optimus had wanted to attack him, there wouldn't be a whole lot that Steve could do to stop him. "I gave you my word when you first arrived here, Captain. I will never lie to you, nor will any of my Autobots."

Optimus pulled away from him then, moving slowly to his full intimidating height. "Come, Captain. There is something I wish to show you."

Before Rogers could reply, Optimus took careful steps around him, it was a deliberate courtesy, Rogers knew, for the Autobot to step around him rather than over. He'd already seen Bumblebee step over soldiers without them flinching or even looking up. Again, it all came back to that absolute trust so many of the soldiers had in the Autobots; to know that the giant beings would watch their step, and even while stepping over humans would be vigilant enough to not step _on_ one. Optimus, it seemed, was either too polite to step over anyone…or recognized that Steve did not trust him enough to watch his step. It was yet another rift between supposed allies; once again Rogers thought briefly of Tony.

Optimus' long stride carried him easily half way down the row of stone slabs in the time it took Rogers to turn around. Prime paused, allowing Rogers to catch up, altering his gait to accommodate Steve's smaller, human one. Together, they walked in silence down the grim row and as they passed each marker Steve was even more aware that beneath the stone slabs lay a friend, a fellow warrior to the Autobot that moved beside him. In his unnaturally long career, Steve had lost his fair share of friends and companions…apparently, so too had Optimus.

At length they reached the end of the aisle, here the hill sloped downward, the flat expanse curving back and away from the graveyard. It continued around another sloping hill, before leveling out once again. Just as before there was another set of stone markers, just two this time, but these had been placed out of view of the others, held apart from them. Here the ground wasn't as well tended, the grass was rough, unkept and weeds sprang around the pair of stones. As Steve drew closer he realized these were far larger than any in the other cemetery, indeed the first marker was nearly the same size of Optimus—or so Rogers estimated-while the second was even larger. Here there was no English inscription upon the slabs, only alien runes marked their surface, and neither of the stones bore any faction insignia.

Motioning to the first marker, Optimus told him, "This is what remains of Sentinel Prime. He was the Leader of the Autobots before me. He was my friend and my mentor…he is the reason I am who and what I am today."

"How did he die?" Steve assumed this Sentinel Prime had sacrificed himself for humanity and that Optimus had brought him here to prove that his kind was loyal to preservation and protection of the human race.

"I killed him."

The simplicity and blunt honesty of the statement hit Rogers harder than the reality of the statement. In answer to Roger's uneasy and bewildered expression, Optimus explained, "When I knew him back on Cybertron, Sentinel was a true embodiment of what it meant to be an Autobot. He taught me to cherish freedom, to fight against tyranny no matter the cost. But during the war, he became lost. He was swayed by Megatron and embraced the Decepticon ideology. When he finally came to your world, his Spark was no longer that of an Autobot, but of a Decepticon. He longed for destruction and would have brought an end to humanity. He had nothing but contempt for humans, believing us to be gods among you." Optimus paused to exvent softly, the sound sorrowful in the morning air, "I had to make a choice, to side with my mentor or to end his Spark and protect humanity from him."

The implications of such a choice were not lost upon Rogers. Knowing that his human companion was acutely aware of what it was like to make such a decision, Optimus indicated the second marker, "This is what remains of Megatron."

"Megatron? The Leader of the Decepticons…your enemy?" Steve was skeptical of the courtesy that had been extended to a being that had apparently brought so much destruction upon the Earth and its people.

"He was my brother."

Again, the blunt honesty of his words hit home with Rogers. To make the decision to turn against your own kind and to kill them in order to protect something greater was unimaginable. With all that Bucky had done, all that he had destroyed, Steve knew he would never have been able to kill him. Bucky was like his brother, he could never give up on him, not when there was hope that he could recover who he once was. And Tony…Steve would always be there for him, would hold on to the hope that the rift between them could be closed, for the sake of the others if for nothing else. Steve glanced up at Optimus, seeing the Autobot Leader in another light. He had chosen against his own kind, his own _family_ for the sake of humanity, and he had killed them, all to protect a species that didn't know him, didn't understand him.

Steve let out the breath he didn't realize he had been holding; Optimus had done the unthinkable, had taken the one step Rogers knew he never could. It was no wonder Lennox and everyone else at N.E.S.T. had such absolute faith and trust in the Autobot Leader. In the darkest of moments, Optimus had come through for humanity, even when it meant going against his own kind.

Steve cleared his throat, looking down at the flattened grass beneath his shoes for a moment before meeting Optimus' impossibly blue gaze once more, "How could you, Prime?" There was no accusation in Steve's voice, rather it was a genuine question.

"You know the answer as well as I, Captain." Slowly again Optimus blinked as he regarded the human before him, "I made a vow to protect humanity from the clutches of tyranny…sacrifices had to be made."

Steve couldn't ignore the question that gnawed at the back of his mind, refusing to be left unspoken, "Optimus if you are capable of this…" here Roger's gestured to the two slabs, "…how can I trust you wouldn't turn on humanity? After all you turned on your own kind, your own family…"

"Before humanity had ever built its first city, my kind had already been thrown into the clutches of a terrible civil war. I cannot escape blame any more than Megatron for the disagreement started between the two of us and it was our feud that later split all of Cybertron into two factions."

Mentally Steve reeled, processing the implications of Prime's words. If it were true than Optimus—indeed all of the Autobots—were older than human civilization itself. It was staggering to be addressed by such an ancient being.

"Understand that I never gave up on Megatron, I always held the hope that he would one day return to the bot that I had known so well..." Snippets of memory flooded over Rogers as Optimus spoke, recollections of Bucky from their days together fighting side by side, when life was simpler and when it had been easy, oh so easy, to tell right from wrong.

"…I was blinded by my hope that we could reconcile the differences between Autobot and Decepticon peacefully." He heard Prime's voice, but he once again saw Tony…Tony looking at him with absolute loathing…Tony pulling no punches…Tony condemning him, snapping at him: _I've been trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart…I'm trying to protect the world…_

Rogers bowed his head, shutting his eyes against the memory as Optimus' words continued to roll over him, "Once I saw how Megatron had turned Sentinel, how he intended to wipe out humanity I knew I had no other choice…"

There was no use in fighting against the torrents of memories now, of images of Ultron…of the ruins of Sokovia …of how close they had all come to destruction. "Megatron had to be stopped, no matter the cost."

Movements slow and carefully measured, Optimus stood from where he had knelt beside Steve. "Captain…" the weight of the very heavens seemed to fill his sonorous timber, "I hope that the day will never come when you will be faced with such a choice."

But hadn't he already? Hadn't he already faced the same test Optimus had? Hadn't he turned against someone whom he considered family? If only there was some way to know if he had passed the test, if he had made the right decision. "There's no way to win…there is no right choice is there, Prime?"

"There is, Captain. There always is, for that is why even now you fight."

"What about you Prime? Why do you fight?"

"For the same reasons you do, Captain. I fight for the freedom of all sentient beings."

"Sometimes it isn't all that simple."

For a long moment Optimus regarded Rogers before at last answering, "Yes, it is, Captain. It is always that simple because it must be…because we cannot forget what matters above all else. We cannot allow our values to be compromised."

Solemnly, Rogers nodded, carefully beholding the mighty countenance before him. For the first time, it didn't look so altogether unfamiliar or unrecognizable. When he looked at the Autobot now, he no longer saw a titanic being capable of leveling an entire city by himself, he no longer saw an ancient construct, aloof and emotionless. "Thank you...for showing me…" Rogers indicated the monuments with a head nod, "I know it couldn't have been easy for you to share this with me…I appreciate it, Prime."

Wordlessly, Optimus tipped his great helm towards Rogers in a gesture of acceptance and once again Rogers wondered how much of the movement was learned from humanity, "We are no small distance from the base, Captain. May I offer you assistance in returning to your dwelling?"

Rogers smirked, this time he didn't hesitate, "It'd be appreciated." This time as he watched the unearthly cadence of Optimus' transformation, Steve looked on in awe and fascination rather than fear. And when Optimus obligingly opened the driver side door, Steve readily stepped into the cab and settled into the driver's seat. As Optimus's engine turned over with a thick and mighty growl, Steve placed his hands confidently on the wheel, "Optimus…did I ever tell you about my friend Bucky?"

"You did not."

Steve smirked unconsciously at the smooth dash before him, "He would have liked you…he probably would have annoyed you, but he would have liked you."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"When there is eventually silence

the suspense is breathing as echoes in the walls

It seems it's time to break

My footsteps seems to be a red thread of apathy, been following me ever since

Under the illusion of a body armor, there is marks from everyday

The distance to the madness undresses the mind

force me to see what my mind… force me to see what I shut off

and I can't seem to turn off my mind

When there is eventually silence

the surface gets hit by frequently portions of rage

It seems we're not familiar

I fear I'll be wiped out by a big burst of accumulation when I least expect it

My fear is a lasting drizzle of rage eroding what's left, with no turning back

The distance to the madness undresses the mind

force me to see what my mind.. force me to see what I shut off

and I can't seem to turn off my mind

There was no sign of an increasing heart rate

So to show my human trait it had to rise eventually

It feels unnecessary now

now, now when it's all over

(Tuvaband, "Eventually Silence")

"Hey…where'd you go?" Natasha Romanoff smiled over the rim of her mug as she called her friend back to the present, the tendrils of steam her tea emitted swirled lazily in the air, in no particular hurry at all.

Braving a sip of the steaming liquid, Natasha continued to watch as Wanda mentally returned from whatever labyrinth her thoughts had been caught up in. Mental check completed, Wanda mumbled a soft apology and wrapped her hands around her own mug, her fingernails drumming out an absent-minded rhythm as she gazed into the abyss of her cup.

"Rough night?" Natasha continued.

Wanda pursed her lips and likewise took a sip of her tea, nodding wordlessly.

"Can't seem to turn the mind off…" Natasha empathized, "During the day with all the distractions, it's not so bad. But at night there's nothing to keep the wolves at bay."

Wanda's chair creaked in protest as she shifted, "Something like that."

Knowingly, Natasha nodded, "You miss him?" She asked suddenly, catching Wanda off guard at the bluntness of the question.

"You mean, Vis?"

"Who else?"

Wanda's responding smile was pained, small and fleeting, "Yes…" She took a deep breath to steady herself, "I keep hearing his voice in my head…like on repeat…" She took another timid sip of tea. This time it was Wanda who watched Natasha over the rim of her cup, "Do you miss him?"

"Vision?" She jested, trying for nonchalant, "I've never been a real big fan of anyone who can walk through walls…too much competition, makes my job harder."

"C'mon Natasha…do you miss him?"

"Him?"

"Him."

Natasha could only offer her honesty, after all, Wanda had been open with her, "Everyday I miss the Big Guy." She shrugged, "But what can I do? We're here now. And he's…well he's probably where he needs to be right now. At least that's what I keep telling myself. It's easier that way."

"You could always try to go find him." Wanda offered.

Such had occurred to Natasha, but she shook her head, tucking a stray strand of red hair behind her ear, "Professional courtesy." She explained softly, "I think he needed the space…so do I."

Finishing her tea, Natasha rose, rolling her shoulders as she stepped over to the sink, setting her mug down with a soft _plink._ She sensed rather than heard Wanda similarly stand to place her unfinished cup besides Natasha's. Neither woman had needed the warm beverage to start the day, but they had needed the companionship. On an island teeming with life –both human and alien—it was startling at how alone it was possible to feel. Trust was such a delicate balance, so fragile that each and every action, every word, had the potential to shatter it irrevocably. While a loner by trade, here Natasha felt the instinctive need to close ranks, keep to those who she knew would and could watch her back as she watched theirs. This place was still too new, too _alien_ to be trusted as of yet. Sure, she could adapt, that wouldn't be much of a problem, the challenge would be if she could feel here the same way she used to at the Avenger compound Tony had built for them. _Tony…_ she mentally shook herself, best not to think about Tony now.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to being here." Wanda admitted, leaning against the kitchen counter, giving voice to Natasha's thoughts. "How are the guys adjusting do you think?"

"You know them. Barton will be happy once we can find a range for him, and I think Wilson and Lang will be just fine so long as Lennox passes along the wifi password."

Wanda opened her mouth to reply, but her words were drowned out in the growl of an approaching engine. Simultaneously, both looked up through the kitchen window just in time to see a distinctive blue and red semi-truck's engine shatter the quiet of the morning grey. It pulled to an easy stop just beyond Wanda's residence and wordlessly both watched as the driver's door opened and Steve Rogers stepped out of the cab. Together they watched as Rogers hesitated only long enough for the door to close on its own before lightly rapping his fist against the broad side of the cab; it was a gesture Natasha had seen more than one N.E.S.T. solider perform with Bumblebee. It bespoke of familiarity…and trust between human and alien.

"Looks like someone's already making friends." Natasha's tone was tight and clipped.

"Right now…we need a few." Wanda responded.

Turning to get ready for the day, Natasha hesitated only long enough to answer, "You forget what I am…what we _all_ are. We don't play well with others."

# # #

Make yourself scarce.

That was what Lennox told them the word was from on high. In other words, that's what Elena had told him to pass along to their guests. When Wanda and the others had arrived at the Autobot hanger later that morning, two things had become immediately apparent: the tension in the air—present in expressions and furtive glances of the soldiers—and the absence of the Autobots.

"Any chance you could clue us in?" Wilson had sidled up to Epps shortly after Lennox's terse announcement.

The veteran N.E.S.T. soldier shook his head, "Nothin' to get overly worried 'bout. Just some paper pushers from Washington looking for trouble."

"Trouble?" Barton echoed, "What kind of trouble?"

Epps crossed his arms, "Same old, same old. Lookin' to bully the 'bots into giving up weapons tech. Good thing the Boss Bot can't be bullied."

"Yeah…I didn't think bullying a 28-foot-tall killing machine was possible." Lang chimed in.

At Epps's responding expression at Lang's words, Rogers cleared his throat and quickly spoke up before the other soldier could retort, "Does this sort of thing happen often?"

Aiming a dark look at Lang, Epps turned towards Rogers, "Eh, 'bout as often as you'd think. But visits like this…not so much. Still, its nothin' to get excited 'bout. Mostly when stuff like this goes down, the 'bots make themselves scarce…might not be such a bad idea for you to do the same today. Don't worry, we'll come find you for chow time later tonight."

So, with encouragement from Epps, the team did just that: they made themselves scarce.

For the better part of the day, Wanda didn't see her fellow companions or catch a glimpse of any Autobots. But in the late afternoon, when the sun was at it's hottest, she didn't think stopping by the mess hall for something cool to drink would cause any harm; as luck would have it, all was quiet as she left the mess hall by a back-door soda in hand. Believing the fastest route out of the vicinity was to cut through what the team had come to recognize as the debriefing hanger, Wanda's footsteps echoed quietly off of the cool packed concrete. But she hadn't ventured far when the voice hailed her.

"Hey…I know you."

Startled, Wanda turned, half expecting some kind of attack. But all that awaited her was the sight of a trim middle-aged man dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit with trendy wide glasses. Hands casually tucked into his pockets, the man slowly approached, "You're one of the Maximoff twins, right? One of them, the Avengers, right?"

When visibly Wanda tensed at the implication of her brother, the man held out a hand placatingly, "I'm sorry, I meant no offense, really." He cleared his throat and took the last few steps forward closing the distance between them, "I guess that wasn't really fair of me. Let's try again shall we? Hi, I'm Joshua Joyce." His voice was low and gentle.

With reservation, Wanda accepted his outstretched hand, shaking it once, "Wanda Maximoff." She responded tersely, recognizing that there was little use in lying, especially when he had already recognized her.

He smiled good naturedly at her, placing his hands once more in his pockets, "Crazy place, right?" he glanced around briefly to indicate the large hanger. Before she could answer, he chuckled, "of course, I'm sure you've been in crazier places than this one."

Wanda gave him a half smile, "Are you lost?"

"I always feel like I am," he chuckled. "Definitely out of my element here. But yes, I accidently got separated from the gaggle of evil politicians I snuck in with."

Wanda tensed, "You snuck in?"

"Oh no, not literally!" He quickly amended, "Just a joke. I mean, look at this place, right? I don't think anyone could sneak anywhere here."

"So, what are you doing here?"

"Well, I was looking for the bathroom…" He smiled again, "Now, I'm just looking for my group…and just some friendly conversation."

She gave him a small smile, "I'm afraid I don't know my way around here very well, so I'm not really the one to ask for directions."

"Yeah, one of those maps with the 'you are here' stickers on it would be grand right about now. This place is so huge, but then again I suppose it needs to be, what with the giant alien robots and all."

At the mention of the Autobots, Wanda tensed slightly, remembering Lennox and Epps's warnings to stay away and not interact with the politicians that had been granted clearance for the day. "I should probably go…"

Catching her guarded expression, he offered, "You must think I'm here to 'persuade' Mr. Prime into sharing some of the Autobot's technology and give the whole 'for the good of all humanity' spiel to a rather alien audience." He made another placating gesture, "I'm not some evil politician I assure you…although I followed a few over here."

When Wanda gave a ghost of a laugh, Joyce smiled, "To be perfectly honest…" here he leaned toward her, and Wanda caught a whiff of what she supposed was expensive cologne, "I'm just here because I wanted to get the chance to meet an Autobot. You know, say hi, thanks for saving the planet kind of a deal? I'm here to help, not hinder."

Wanda nodded, catching herself wanting to believe this Joshua Joyce. There was something so likeable about the man, something so unassuming that she couldn't help but want to truly believe that he had no political agenda at stake. "You want to help?" she found herself asking.

"Of course. Not help like you could help, obviously. I'm not one to go running around in battle, I wouldn't know the first thing about combat. No, I'm more of the kind to stay behind the scenes. Maybe help our alien friends fight more efficiently. You know, make sure they keep functioning properly to keep fighting the good fight."

"Oh…you know a lot about their biology then?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. I'd love to get the chance to get a scoop on their mechanics though, you see I'm really good at making good tech run better."

"Sounds a lot like you're just here to get their technology, just like everyone else." Wanda replied seriously, beginning to regret her decision to go looking for a soda.

"You could say that." Joyce responded evenly, "but I wouldn't. Those guys—" Joyce pointed back towards the way he had come, "those guys just want bigger guns to blow more stuff up. I'm a builder, not a destroyer. Like I said, I'm not here to cause problems. I'm here to try to help prevent them." Knowing he had her full attention, he continued, "You know I'd love to ask you what's your story and why you're in a place like this, but I'm sure its super important and therefore supper classified right?" Joyce smirked to himself again, "Alright, so let me just ask you this: have you met one yet? Here?"

"Not all of them," Wanda found herself responding without consciously deciding to.

His eyes gleamed with interest as he silently mouthed the word 'wow' before speaking aloud, "Amazing! Any chance you could share details?" When she hesitated, he brushed her words away with a hand gesture, "Of course, of course, classified I know, I know."

He shrugged disarmingly, his demeanor charming her, "One can't help but to be fascinated by them. Such amazing machines, so different from us and yet willing to help. All the while they never ask for anything in return. Makes me glad Prime and his kind are on our side." Joyce clicked his tongue thoughtfully, "I mean its terrifying to imagine what it would be like if he, say…changed his mind. We have no idea how they function. We don't have the faintest idea of how we could even defend ourselves if one of them took it into their processors to switch sides…scary thought isn't it?" He paused, regarding her solemnly, "Terrifying really…but then again, I guess that's why the rest of humanity is so lucky to have people like you. Without you we'd have no hope of being able to defend ourselves against something so magnificently powerful. Without the Avengers, and without any indication of how they work, humanity would never stand a chance." Joyce paused to glance around the spacious hanger appreciatively before regarding the thoughtfully quietly Wanda, "Everyone and everything has a weakness, Ms. Maximoff, and, after all, we were here first. We didn't ask for them to show up, we didn't ask for any of this, yet here we are—" Joyce spread his hands open in a helpless gesture, "—caught in the middle. Not all of us are like you Ms. Maximoff, not all of us are so lucky that we can defend ourselves and those we care about."

His words reached out to her, incited painful memories of the incident in Lagos, fleeting images of the explosion as she struggled to contain it...all she had been trying to do was protect Steve, protect her _friend_. But it had been just like Vision predicted. _Disaster…_ unbidden Vision's voice rolled through her thoughts… _Disaster…_ And so many innocent people had been caught in the middle, when all she had been trying to do was protect a friend from a greater threat.

Joyce pitched his voice softer, quiet enough so that it wouldn't carry, "Makes one wonder, if that's why the Autobots are so unwilling to share their technology, maybe trying to keep us in the dark? Seems to me, humanity could use helping hand, someone capable of shedding a little light on their mechanics. Just to help us keep humanity ahead of the curve, just enough to keep everyone else from being caught in the middle. You know what I think? I think that someone like that would be a true defender of humanity—"

"Mr. Joyce!" Lennox's voice shattered Joyce's honeyed words as the veteran soldier materialized, his steps brisk as he approached "Are you lost?"

"Oh my, I think so. I just got turned around and Ms. Maximoff was kindly showing me the way back."

"Allow me to assist you, Mr. Joyce." Lennox was distinctly less than friendly as he stopped a handful of paces away, waiting expectantly.

"Of course, thank you Mr. Lennox!" Joyce's tone was unconcerned and friendly. Before he joined Lennox, Joyce turned to address Wanda one last time. His smile was warm as he regarded her, holding out his hand once more, "Ms. Maximoff…an honor and pleasure it has been speaking with a true hero, a true defender of humanity."

Somehow, Wanda managed another smile for the man, taking his hand. But as he pulled away she felt him slip a folded paper unobtrusively into her palm as he squeezed her hand briefly. With a subtle wink, he added quietly, "If you're ever in need of some friendly conversation Ms. Maximoff…I'd be honored." And with that, he turned on his heel and easily fell in step beside Lennox, who motioned him forward. As Joyce past him, Lennox let his gaze drift beyond Joshua toward Wanda. Unsmiling he regarded her for a long moment, before following after the wayward Joyce, who had started up his nonchalant stream of chatter once again. Lennox simply ignored him as he led Joyce back to the conference room that the rest of the visitors milled about in, taking a break from the formal meetings and discussions. Back amongst familiar faces, Joyce found his way toward the man who had granted him the necessary clearance to even be here.

Breaking off conversation with another high ranking general, Harold Attinger greeted Joyce tersely, "Find what you were looking for?" He asked quietly.

Joyce worked to keep his expression neutral, "Maybe…Maybe not," he murmured, "…maybe I found something better."

Attinger smirked, "Good." He rumbled as he gestured back to catch the attention of the general he had been speaking with moments before, "Mr. Joyce, allow me to introduce to you General Pax. He and I have been having quite an interesting conversation…"

Back in the now empty hanger, in the silent aftermath of Lennox and Joyce's departure, Wanda slowly opened her hand, studying the business card Joyce had pressed into her palm. Over and over, her fingers traced the edges of the small card before she slipped it into her pocket and made her way out of the hanger.

As she departed, she didn't feel the electronic blue gaze that tracked her movements. Only when she had turned the corner and disappeared from view did the thick sound of an engine break the quiet as a yellow Camaro detached itself from the shadows and similarly departed the hanger.


	10. Chapter 10

The sound of the waves soothed her aching mind and heart as her thoughts chased themselves around and around after her conversation with Joshua Joyce. Kicking off her shoes, Wanda took a moment to enjoy the feel of the wet, cool sand beneath her feet as eddies of water swirled up to her ankles before receding again. She squinted up into the bright blue sky, taking in how the sun brushed the tops of the turquoise waves.

This place was a paradise, complete with powder white sand. So, why then, did she feel so anxious?

She slipped her hand into her pocket and was half-startled when her fingers brushed against a small piece of folded card stock: Joyce's card. Wanda took it out, not really seeing it as she turned it end over end in a nervous movement.

 _"_ _Hey…I know you."_

Wanda jumped at the sound of Joyce's voice. Turning her back to the ocean she was startled to find herself gazing not into Joyce's oversized glasses, but rather up into two brilliant blue optics. As the sunlight winked off of burnished yellow paint, the truth hit her: it was a recording.

Bumblebee knelt down slowly in the sand, careful to keep his movements slow and to keep his distance. With a chirp he played another clip for her, _"Just looking for…some friendly conversation."_

Her heart pounded in her throat as the reality of her situation closed in around her. Wanda spoke quietly, knowing he would hear her regardless, "You were there…you heard everything." She was alone, in unfamiliar territory with a 17-foot-tall robot—a 17-foot-tall _killing machine—_ between her and any chance of help.

With another chirrup, Bumblebee nodded, _"I'm here to help, not to hinder."_ Bee replayed Joyce's words again, and Wanda closed her eyes against them.

"Please…stop doing that."

This time John Wayne's slow drawl echoed over to her, _"Sure thing, partner."_

Wanda took a cautious step forward, "You can't speak, can you? Is that why you're using recordings?"

Bumblebee nodded, answering with another sound-bite: _"Roger, Roger."_

Wanda swallowed thickly, regarding the titan before her, unsure of what to do or say. Bumblebee didn't need one of Ratchet's medical scanners to know that the slight human before him was anxious. He could read it in the tight muscles of her shoulders, the stiff way she held herself, her shallow breathing gave evidence to her elevated heart rate. With a soft warble, he read the fear in her eyes. It was like this with so many humans—even Sam had been afraid at first—so he wasn't surprised. Yet, that didn't change the fact that her fear still hurt. He hated that even after all of this time, humanity still instinctively feared them, still looked at them first as killing machines, as interlopers... _alien monsters._ Pushing away the age-old spark wound, Bumblebee regarded the human before him now. Slowly, offering her cheerful chirps and clicks, Bumblebee settled himself into a kneeling position. His posture telling her that while he was no threat to her, neither was he going anywhere, anytime soon. Relaxing his wing-like doors, he shuttered his wide, blue optics at her in an Autobot blink. Attempting at humor, he selected another sound-bite, this time from an outdated and campy alien movie, " _We come in peace."_ The ironic mock alien voice echoed over to her.

Wanda couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips at that. With another happy chirp, Bumblebee noted some of the tension left her shoulders. But when she regarded him once more, it was with a somber gaze.

"So…what happens now?" She asked stiffly, "You go tell Optimus that I was talking with Joyce? That I might be some sort of spy here to give away information on you?"

Bumblebee blinked slowly again, " _Are you?"_

Wanda squinted up at the yellow Autobot, it was so hard to tell from the audio clips that he used, but if she was reading him right, Bumblebee wasn't here to condemn her. He had sought her out to listen to her. Moreover, she read no aggression in his posture or gaze. Slowly she shook her head, "No…your leader offered us shelter and protection. Your kind is giving us a safe space…I couldn't repay that by betraying you like that. I'm…I'm not a…"

 _Monster._

The word hung in the silence between them.

It was the same pain. The aching and gnawing hurt, the fear that all anyone would ever see when they looked at her would be a monster. She hunched her shoulders against the memories of Lagos, of the screams, the pleas for help, the ash that burned her eyes, her throat, her heart. Once again, she heard Vision's lament, _"Do you see? It was as I said…disaster."_ Unshed tears burnt at the back of her eyes, a fiery insistence, and Wanda closed them against the urge. What she wouldn't give to have Vision here with her, to have a friend who just looked at her as that: a friend. Sure, Nat was her friend, just as Steve and all the others were, too. But even when Nat looked at her, there was a reserve, a distance that could quite be breached. Not that it was Wanda's fault, that's just how the skilled former-assassin was with everyone; Romanov didn't trust _anyone._ There would always be that barrier between her and Romanov. Just as there would always be an unbreachable divide between her and Steve. He'd listen to her, sure, but he was too much the soldier, too much the commander. While they could be friends, Rogers would always retreat to the safe distance befitting of a leader. He would draw the line because he needed to keep a clear head and heart to lead. But Vision…he was different. He looked at her as a friend first and fellow warrior second... he saw her heart. That's what she needed right now, what she missed…having a friend who would just be there for _her_ , would just listen to Wanda the person, and not just see Scarlet Witch, the Avenger.

Bumblebee chirped and clicked again, drawing her out of herself.

 _Unless…_

Wanda looked up at the alien titian. He sat, waiting patiently, and she wondered—dared to hope—perhaps his silence was offering just want she needed: a friend to listen.

 _"_ _Did you know…"_ Bumblebee looked away from her for the first time, his baby-blue optics trained upward to the expanse of the cloudless sky, _"At night…sometimes you can still see…my home…"_

Recognizing the offer of conversation, Wanda took a handful of tentative steps toward where the Autobot knelt in the soft sand. "Do you miss it?" She dared to ask. Sound clip or not, she recognized that note of longing in his timber, that same ache of loneliness resonated within her. How could she not respond to it?

Bumblebee looked back down at her, nodded somberly, piecing together more audio clips, _"Ain't it grand? —this place…called Earth…but it is still…not home."_

A small smile faintly tugged at the corner of her lips, "I know what you mean." She was close enough now to hear the soft _whirr_ and _clicks_ as the mechanisms in his optics worked to track her movements. "I'm from Earth, and sometimes I don't even recognize it as home."

 _"_ _I'm sorry."_

It occurred to her then, that he meant it. In that moment she remembered Steve's words to the Autobot Leader: _Trust goes both ways._ She allowed the memory to fill her, to enable her to strap steel to her spine as she closed the remaining distance between herself and the Autobot. Muscles tense as she ruthlessly pushed away the instinct to run, Wanda moved to sit beside Bumblebee, close enough that her shoulder briefly brushed against one of the yellow bot's panels.

"I'm sorry, too." She offered as she looked up at him. So close, he truly loomed above her, and she felt so vulnerable, so insignificant. Ignoring the flutter in her stomach, she worked to offer him a smile, "I'd like to hear about what your home was like…"

 _"_ _And what about yours?"_

She let out a breath as some of the tension drained from her, feeling relieved in the charity that they had apparently struck with one another, "Sounds fair…but you first, because I asked first."

Bumblebee warbled in agreement, _"A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…"_

Wanda snorted out a laugh at that. At first it took quite a bit of focus to follow Bumblebee's story as he shifted from various clips to give form to his narrative. But it didn't take long for her to adjust to his unique language; it felt natural and Wanda found solace in the cadence-and in the company. She lost track of time as they sat together, exchanging first stories about their homes, and then slowly friends.

Having shifted so that she now sat facing him directly, Wanda snorted out another laugh, "So you really did that to a federal agent?" She asked incredulous.

Bumblebee shrugged, _"It was just…a little diesel…"_

She grinned, "No wonder this Agent Simmons was so mad!" It felt good to laugh again, to smile. Feeling at ease for the first time since they had arrived, Wanda let her gaze drift over the water, noticing for the first time that twilight was descending upon them, burnishing the waves in molten hues.

"We should probably head back and check in…" She said heavily, less than eager to see Lennox and the other members of N.E.S.T. How well she knew there would be repercussions for her actions. There was always a price to be paid.

Following her, Bumblebee stood, buzzing sharply as he shifted from ped to ped, endeavoring to shake free the grains of sand that had crept into his ankle struts. At first Wanda had flinched at the harsh sound—it was the first she had heard him make, having grown accustomed to just the friendly light clicks and whistles she now associated with him. She was quick to recognize it wasn't an aggressive sound, but rather one of discomfort. Wanda moved instinctively, without consciously deciding to do so, "Here…hold still, I'll help…" Kneeling beside him she reached into the ankle joint, gingerly brushing out the remaining errant bits of sand. It occurred to her then, as she dusted, that all Bumblebee had to do was lift his ped and her fingers would be crushed in an instant. She risked a glance up at him, wondering if she had perhaps over stepped a boundary. But when he chirped in thanks, she knew he wouldn't move a piston: he trusted her. Turning back to the gears, she smiled to herself, as she finished brushing out the last remnants of sand. Lifting her hand free, she took a deep breath and wiped her hands on her jeans and stood up. "Better?"

He bobbed his head and gave her a thumbs up.

"Hey Bumblebee?" Wanda reached into her pocket, hand closing over the card that Joyce had given her. Without hesitation she offered it out to him, "Here…I won't be needing this."

He hesitated, regarding her and the small business card. _"What about…some friendly conversation?"_

Even at the sound of Joyce's voice being replayed, Wanda didn't waiver, "I have a feeling he isn't the sort of friend I need—or want."

She watched, marveling at how deftly his fingers worked as he took the small card from her, moving deftly and gingerly. At the brush of metal against her skin she recalled how similarly gentle he had been when he held Lennox's daughter, Annabelle… _Bumblebee leapt forward, his large hands closing over her, swallowing her completely from view as they engulfed her tiny body. With a chorus of whistles and chirps he tucked into a tidy somersault._

 _When Bumblebee first moved…Wanda had tensed, fearful that the alien robot would indeed attempt to pick the small child up. When those large, crushing fists closed around her… Wanda gasped, fearful that in his hands the fragile girl wouldn't stand a chance. But calm and collected, Lennox hadn't even flinched…_

The yellow Autobot could have crushed Annabelle, could have done it without a thought, with a token amount of force…but he hadn't. Not just because he had calibrated his grip to be firm, yet gentle enough to pick up the small girl, but rather because he had no intention of harming her. The Autobot genuinely cared for Annabelle. The revelation opened Wanda's eyes to a greater realization: the yellow Autobot genuinely cared for _all_ of them. So much power, unbridled strength, and yet for all of that, he really was a gentle spirit. There was more to him—more to all of his kind—than just unyielding metal alloys and firepower. Maybe, just maybe, they had more in common than she had supposed.

 _"_ _Need a lift?"_ He offered breaking her train of thought.

Before she could answer, he stepped away, fluidly transforming into his terrestrial guise, opening the driver side door for her in invitation. It was her choice. She knew it was more than just a ride back to the base that was being extended. _Trust goes both ways…_ Wanda reached out, her fingertips dancing along the top of the door panel before she stepped inside and sank into the offered seat. As she watched the steering wheel turn of its own volition, guided unerringly by the being that surrounded her, Wanda thought of all the friends she had lost… and those she had found along the way. He could probably level an entire city if he wanted to…then again, so could she. Yet for all that power and strength, there was almost a _humanity_ to him; a yearning for friendship, a sincere caring for those around him _…_ enough tenderness to care for a human child. That gave her pause. Hadn't she known what it was to be so desperately lonely? To feel as if there was no one else who could, who would even _want_ to be a friend? Someone to listen, to talk to and care for? If he was a walking weapon, so was she.

And yet…

And yet if that was true…it was also true that they weren't alone anymore, but more importantly, that they didn't _have_ to be alone anymore.


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: I just wanted to thank all of you who have continued to stick with this story despite its glacier slow updates. That you continue to take the time to read and review is deeply appreciated. Specifically, I would like to thank "_** ** _UseFistNotMouth" for their astute observation of the discrepancies in chapters one and eight. I can't believe I made such a huge plot hole and I'm glad "_** ** _UseFistNotMouth" was there to help me out of it. I have since corrected my error in chapter eight of including Skids and Mudflap in the cemetery that Captain Rogers inadvertently visits. The twins are now back among the living, where they should be! Again, thank you "_** ** _UseFistNotMouth" for your keen attention to detail and for helping me grow as a writer!_**

 ** _I'd also like to take a moment to clarify the timeline of this cross-over. If I did not elucidate it enough in previous notes, I sincerely apologize, especially if it has caused any confusion or been off-putting in the slightest. As it stands, the events of this story take place post-Civil War in the Avenger cannon and pre-Age of Extinction in the Transformers cannon. That is about as precise as I can be in regards to both cannons, given that I am taking extreme artistic license with the timelines themselves and several events and character details. So, again, this is not meant to rigidly follow any timeline or any cannon but meant to exist roughly somewhere in between. I hope this helps to clarify any confusion. Thank you to all the readers out there who are willing to, as Optimus would say, "roll" with my fluid and odd juxtaposition of details, characters and timelines. It may not make perfect sense, but it is, after all, meant all in good fun.  
_**

 ** _ ** _One last note, as a warning, the following chapter does contain strong language and references to alcohol._**_**

 ** _Again, thank you for taking time out of your day to read my random musings. All I hope to do is provide some interesting entertainment for you!_**

 ** _With love and deepest gratitude,_**

 ** _Epsilon_**

 ** _# # #_**

 _"_ _Here stands a man_

 _With a bullet in his clenched right hand_

 _Don't push him, son._

 _For he's got the power to crush this land."_

 _(Syml, "The War")_

When the last conference of the day came to a close, Joshua Joyce found himself alone. It didn't bother him. Just because Attinger was doing Joyce a favor by bringing him along didn't mean that Joyce was beholden to Attinger every moment of the day. In fact, Joyce preferred it that way. There was a ruthlessness in Harold, cold and cruelly efficient, that could cut both ways; only a fool lingered by that edge longer than he had too.

The sun had set already, leaving the sky awash in purple navy, no longer twilight but too early for true nightfall. Joyce let the gaggle of other various politicians, representatives and military personal pass him by. He adopted a steady saunter that allowed him to drift behind; far enough away from the others to be left alone and left out of any conversation, but not so far as to be considered an idle wanderer. Joyce let his gaze pass over the mostly unremarkable military buildings. He had seen his far share of bases, enough to be unimpressed by this one. Idly he whistled a soft tune, adding to his air of nonchalance and disinterest for any casual observer.

In reality, it couldn't be further from the truth.

Joyce's keen mind was ferociously at work recalling snippets of conversation overheard throughout the conferences, breaks or caught in passing by chance. He mulled over seemingly innocuous chatter, finding value in the overlooked. This was what he was good at, it was why Attinger had found purpose in bringing him along. After all, two pairs of eyes and ears were better than one. Joyce was just another number amongst the invited guests, an ordinary businessman of little interest or merit. If he was overlooked, all the better.

But he hadn't been completely overlooked, had he? Someone _had_ noticed him. _Lennox._ That had been his name. When Lennox had redirected Joyce back to the group, Joshua didn't doubt for a moment that the man hadn't been fooled by his vapid chatter. He'd have to be careful around Lennox, best to avoid the man entirely if he could. The seasoned solider certainly had enough influence around here to make Joyce's stay unpleasant and problematic.

"Heard you had an interesting afternoon." The dry tone shattered Joyce's concentration, startling the man as Attinger fell into step with Joyce, seemingly materializing out of nowhere.

Slipping his hands in his pockets, Joyce opened the verbal chess match, "Interesting to some, perhaps."

He was rewarded by Attinger's dry laugh, it rattled like bone splinters and fragments from a deboned carcass, "Don't be coy, Joyce."

Joyce smirked, "I would never presume to be."

"Then tell me your presence here has been worthwhile."

"Astoundingly." Joyce was quick to respond. There was no use beating around the bush if Attinger was not in a gaming mood. "It seems that I stumbled on a little secret N.E.S.T. has been keeping."

Attinger suppressed a sigh as he tucked his hands into his pockets, "You disappoint me, Joyce," He sneered, anything but impressed, "The Autobots are the _worst_ un-kept secret this base has."

"I wasn't thinking about the Autobots…but rather something else…something perhaps worth _avenging_."

That got Attinger's attention, as he knew it would. Like Joyce, Attinger was no stranger to the recent global events and activities of Earth's defenders. Much like the Autobots, any information about the biology of the Avengers was more speculation than quantifiable fact. To have one of the superhumans _here_ and _now_ , within reach, was an opportunity neither man could resist. Attinger drew to a halt, turning to regard Joyce directly, any vestiges of nonchalance evaporating, "Which one?" he breathed in a predatory rumble.

"The Sokovia witch." Joyce hated to admit how relieved he was now that he had turned Attinger's displeasure aside. He attempted a casual shrug, "But where there is one lurking around…" he trailed off suggestively.

"Even if it is just her…" Attinger smiled and the expression turned Joyce's blood to ice. For long moments, Attinger fell silent, mulling over all the possibilities, "She's the one that can manipulate matter with her mind."

"So they say."

"She has power worth taking."Attinger breathed, already thinking of what possibilities and potential the witch could mean for him and for his newly acquired asset. _At the very least,_ he speculated internally, _the witch would be an amusing science project or even pet for Lockdown…_

"You can't just take it from her," Joyce cautioned, "She's a person, not a missile you can simply deconstruct. We're talking biology here, her very genetic code has been entirely re-written."

Attinger rounded on him, his voice pitched as black as midnight, "Don't be a sentimental fool. If I need to rip her apart, I will. The future of humanity is at stake here and there is nothing I will not and cannot do."

"Okay, okay no need to get your feathers ruffled…" Joyce suppressed a shudder as he attempted to placate his companion, "But this is more than just a smash and grab job, Harold. It takes finesse and a careful selection of weapons. Don't try to use a baseball bat when a scalpel will do. Especially when a willing participant—"

"—I _always_ choose my weapons wisely." Attinger rumbled cutting him off, "And I have neither the patience nor time to try and convince her to help us." He snarled knowing instinctively where Joyce was trying to lead him.

"I'm just saying everyone can be manipulated, everyone has a pressure point, we just have to find it. Belief is a powerful motivator."

"Your pity for them is your weakness," Attinger snapped, "You act as though they're still human and they're not. They are walking weapons. They are military assets. You don't ask a missile if it wouldn't mind destroying a target. You use the damn thing when and how you want to. She is something I could use, something that can help me get rid of these damnable aliens, _all_ of them. I'm not going to politely ask for her help or permission."

"It's different with them, you know that." Joyce attempted to protest, "They have a moral code, they believe in—"

"I'm not damn Captain America whose honor hobbles him. I don't dance around morality, because that is not a luxury we have during war."

Joyce refused to back down. "I'm telling you right now, Harold, if you just take her and rip her apart like a rag doll to take her abilities, it won't end well. You risk destroying a potentially valuable asset and worse. I don't know about you but I'm a simple man who likes simple things, and bringing the wrath of the other Avengers down on us—to say nothing of the Autobots—is something I simply can't handle."

Attinger narrowed his eyes at Joyce, "You have an alternative." It wasn't a question, but a demand.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Joyce took a moment to consider his next words. He agreed with Attinger that the witch's abilities could be a valuable tool; the prospect of being able to even just study them was thrilling enough. And while Joyce didn't necessarily care all that much about the witch herself, he didn't want to be on the receiving end of the Avengers' displeasure. Joyce had no doubt that if he and Attinger just took the witch, her Avenger pals would hear about it somehow and come for her. When that happened, he didn't want to be anywhere near that hot mess.

Attinger raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"The witch…how old is she?" Joyce asked, speculating.

Attinger sighed, "What the hell do I care how old she is?"

"Because she's one of the younger Avenger buddies. She's just a kid." Joyce mused, "…just a kid who has been handed a flamethrower. She's got all that power and relatively little control. Think about the incident in Lagos, all that bad press about her being the big bad wolf. No kid wants to hear that they're the monster, or that they're the freak."

"So?"

" _So_ , if I tell her I have the answer, I have her magic cure, I bet she'd go for it. If I offer her that golden ticket, I bet she'd sign what we'd ask her to sign and go where we'd ask her to go."

"Then once we have her, you could figure out precisely what was done to make her and replicate it," Attinger added.

Joyce nodded, "No fuss, no mess. You could have your asset and there wouldn't be anything her Avenger pals could do about it. You'd get your unit of superhuman beings capable of recycling any of those talking tin-cans and all without a single shot fired." Joyce gave Attinger a winning smile, "Like I said, a scalpel procedure, no baseball bat required." Joyce paused to hold up a warning finger, " _But,_ it won't be a cake walk, you know that right? After all, we still have the little problem of getting her off the base. That won't be anything to sneeze at, especially if N.E.S.T. is protecting her."

"You mean if the Autobots are protecting her."

Joyce nodded, "Like I said, no small problem."

Attinger scoffed, "You see, this is why you'd be useless with me, Joyce. I'm a serious person who handles serious problems." He adjusted his tie expertly, "I can arrange to have her removed with minimal collateral damage or effort."

Joyce lifted an eyebrow, skeptical, "Really? How do you plan on dealing with Director O'Connor, let alone the Autobots?"

"Unlike you, I have effective friends, in effective places. It won't be problem. Come tomorrow evening, you and I, along with the little Sokovia witch, will be far from here."

# # #

After his evening stroll with Joyce, Attinger wasted little time. Returning to the small private bunk he'd been assigned in the barracks, Attinger sauntered over to the small desk squeezed into his temporary quarters. His cramped room could very well be the direct result of Lennox's distaste for him, but Attinger didn't care. Let the soldier enjoy his modicum of power and indulge his petty grievance; Harold had stayed in far worse places. Removing a bottle of Macallan 21 year from his travel bag, he poured himself a generous serving. Sinking into the compact chair he ignored how uncomfortable it was, choosing instead to enjoy the way the light skipped and danced off the honey colored scotch. Expertly swirling the glass, creating a contained maelstrom within it, Attinger pressed his cell phone against his ear with his free hand, listening to the hollow ringing. Never taking his eyes off of the swirling contents of the crystal glass, he smirked as his call was picked up by a dry and biting masculine voice.

"Ross."

"Hello, Thaddeus."

"Attinger you bastard," Ross snapped,"what do you want?"

"Now, now is that any way to talk to the man who comes bearing gifts?"

Ross wasn't fooled in the slightest. "Beware Greeks bearing gifts."

"Lucky for you I'm not Greek."

"Harold, I have more important things to do—"

"Like finding your lost Sokovia witch?"

The silence that reigned on the other end of the line was deafening. Undaunted, Attinger continued uninhibited, knowing that he had captured the Secretary of State's attention, "Like I said, I come bearing gifts."

There was surly and reluctant pause; Ross would have rather hugged a shark than deal with Attinger. After a moment, Ross at last growled,"Ok, I'll bite. What do you know?"

"The location of Wanda Maximoff."

Again, the silence was profound before Ross at last responded in a clipped tone,"What do you want?"

"To solve your problem." Attinger continued to swirl his scotch, untasted, watching the mini maelstrom continue to spin and spin, enjoying his mastery over an artfully contained tempest.

"And how much is this going to cost me?"

"Nothing you couldn't afford."

Ross gritted his teeth, "Harold, you have no idea what she is capable of, how dangerous she is. Only I have the operatives capable of dealing with her."

Attinger smirked, instantly thinking of his newest Cybertorian asset, _I bet you don't…_. Instead, he told the Secretary of State, "Which is why we need to handle this mutually."

Hating the fact that the insolent politician could very well be the answer to at least one of his missing problems, Ross resigned himself to the inevitability of working with Attinger…again. "Alright, Harold. I'm listening."


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Just a quick note as a warning, there is strong language used in the following chapter.**

 **Now...on with the plot!**

 **-Epsilon**

 **# # #**

Chapter 12

Dread and doubt gnawed relentlessly in the pit of Lennox's stomach. Dinner had been an impossible affair, so instead of wasting the food he had no hope of choking down, the seasoned N.E.S.T. commander skipped the mess hall entirely and sought the one person who would tell him if they really did have a problem or if he was just chasing his tail. He found her in her office, of course, tucked at the back of the Autobot hanger.

Director Elena O'Connor sat at her desk, hands in her lap, scrutinizing a cup of coffee that sat untouched in front of her.

Lennox couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his lips at the sight of her peering so intently into the depths of the mug, "Worried you might find a Decepticon in there?" he asked in the way of a greeting as he pulled up a chair opposite of her.

She pursed her lips, never taking her steel grey gaze from the plain white ceramic mug, "It looks like coffee." She said slowly, "It smells like coffee."

"So…?"

Sighing, she reached for the mug and timidly took a sip. "Ugh…" grimacing she plunked it back down in frustration, "So why does it taste like diesel?"

"You didn't by chance get that from Ratchet, did you?"

"No."

"Well then, you're probably safe."

For the first time Elena looked at him, "You're so reassuring," she quipped before regarding him properly. "Why do you look like you just swallowed a grenade? What's wrong?" She narrowed her gaze, "Is it Skids and Mudflap again? What did they do this time?"

"The twins have been behaving themselves, I promise." He told her doubtful look, "Sideswipe has been keeping them busy with combat drills on the far end of the island…I think a few of Captain Rogers' men went with them."

Elena leaned back in her chair, confident in Sideswipe's ability to handle the troublesome twins. Instead, she leveled her gaze at him in a fashion that eerily reminded him of Optimus.

"What?"

"You tell me," she patiently looked back at him, "You're the one that came in here looking like you've been sucking on a lemon."

His stomach lurched with nerves— _why the hell was he so bothered about this?—_ but Lennox managed an even tone, "Maybe something, maybe nothing."

Elena crossed her arms and just waited.

"I can only tell you what I saw."

"That's generally a good place to start."

"I just need to know if I'm overreacting…or if I need to alert Prime."

 _That_ got Elena's attention and she tensed, "I trust your instincts, Lennox." She told him carefully, "So does Optimus…you should, too." She paused considering, "This has to do with our guests doesn't it?"

Lennox smirked, "That obvious, huh?"

"You wouldn't have hesitated to talk to Prime if one of the 'bots had gotten into mischief, and you certainly would have already handled it if the problem was one of our N.E.S.T. operatives. So…" She inclined her head knowingly, "This has to do with Captain Rogers and one of his team members." Steeling herself for whatever Lennox had to say, Elena met his gaze unflinchingly, "So, I'll ask you again…what happened."

So, Lennox told her. Plainly and succinctly, he told her what he had seen, what he suspected, what he feared and when he had finished, he leaned back in his chair feeling as though he had lanced a festering wound, leaving it clean, open and ready to heal. At least now, he wasn't bearing this burden of aching worry alone.

Gazing at nothing in particular, Elena drummed her fingertips on the surface of her desk, "could be something…could be nothing…" she murmured to herself, her thoughts far from where she sat. Finally, she seemed to pull herself back into the present and regarded Lennox, "You said the man you saw Wanda talking with was named Joyce?" She narrowed her eyes at him in concentration, teasing out an elusive thought, a fleeting recognition of the name.

"Yeah, Joyce…" He trailed off, idly scratching at his cheek as he sought to recall the politician's first name, "James or Joffrey …?"

The corner of Elena's lips twitched, "Joffrey is _Game of Thrones_ , Lennox." She shook her head at him, "Get off your ass and get past season four man."

Lennox rolled his eyes, "Whatever, I only watch because Sarah does."

"Uh huh, sure, blame it all on your poor wife. You like it and you know it."

Lennox leaned forward tapping a pile of paperwork on her desk, "Focus…Joyce," he repeated firmly, "Joyce."

"Joyce." Elena muttered as she deftly selected a specific file from the neatly stacked pile, "Joyce…Joyce…" She echoed, flipping the folder open and scanning the list of names. Lennox leaned forward, recognizing at least the folder—he'd seen it often enough in the past few days: it was the file containing the lists and identification forms for all the politicians that had been given clearance to come to the base.

It didn't take Elena long to find the name, "Joyce." She snapped as she pinned the printed name under a fingertip, "It says here that he was given clearance as an assistant to one…" She paused, eyes flitting across the page, "…Attinger, Harold." She finished.

" _Attinger!"_ Lennox spat, "I know him!" He swore thickly and creatively, enough to cause Elena to lift an eyebrow at him and look at him incredulously over the top of her glasses.

Before she could ask, Lennox slammed his fist down against the top of her desk and bolted out of his seat in frustration. Still swearing heartily, he paced across her small office, "I should have known! I—"

"Lennox—" Elena tried and failed to calm the soldier down.

"—should have realized that Attinger was involved in this somehow!"

 _"_ _Lennox."_ This time Elena put enough bite into her tone to wrest his attention away from his frustration and anger.

Huffing he plunked back down into his seat, "This is a problem, a serious problem."

"I can't help you unless you clue me in here, Lennox."

"Attinger is a sleaze. He's conniving, and he is a problem because he's smart and well connected. I've met him before, shortly after the Battle of Chicago…" Lennox shook his head as if to clear it from the ghost of a less than pleasant memory, "He's a problem Elena. He hates all Cybertronians. Decepticons. Autobots. He doesn't see any difference between them and he wants them gone."

"How could you know that?" Elena watched him thoughtfully, not outright doubting him but needing evidence nonetheless.

"People talk," Lennox replied icily. Realizing he was directing his anger at her, he worked to soften his tone, "It was in Chicago, alright. Lots of teams from lots of places, all working to rescue people, clean up the worst of the mess. You know, take care of the structures that were at risk of collapse."

When Elena nodded to let him know she was listening, he blew out a breath and continued, "Anyway…some guys came over to my group. As we were clearing rubble, they started talking…talking about how it didn't matter what badge the aliens were wearing, about how an alien was an alien, and that this wasn't their home." Lennox clenched his teeth, "They started telling me about this group that was being quietly formed, a strike force team that was going to show the aliens, _all_ the aliens, that they had overstayed their welcome." He shook his head, "I think the only reason they were talking to me was because they didn't recognize me. That and they were trying to get me to join them—but they did tell me that this team was going to be led by…" He trailed off, gesturing to her in silent conclusion.

Elena finished his sentence for him, "…by Harold Attinger."

Lennox nodded grimly, "Attinger." He confirmed.

Swallowing thickly, Elena asked, "What was this team going to be called?"

Lennox shook his head, "I don't quite remember…something 'wind' or 'storm'. I thought they were just venting, that they didn't actually have any connections to make this team a reality. So at the time I dismissed it and didn't take it seriously. " Taking a moment to steady himself, Lennox met Elena's gaze, "Look, the only reason Attinger isn't more of a problem is because his methods are too extreme and because of that he's fairly unpopular…or at least unpopular enough with the wrong people. At least that's why I think this team they were talking about never got approval and he hasn't been able to act on his dislike of the Autobots, or Decepticons for that matter."

"Then who the hell gave him clearance to be here?"

Lennox blinked, taken aback, "I…I thought you did."

"Don't be an ass," Elena snarled, "If I had any indication of what or who this Attinger was, do you really think I'd let him come here?"

"I just thought you had the final say for all of this…" Lennox watched as she retrieved another file and tore through it, looking for the clearance paperwork on Attinger and Joyce.

"I have the ability to revoke clearance, but I didn't grant it to anyone that was invited." She snapped, roughly yanking out another page, "I didn't even invite any of these people," she muttered.

"Who did?"

Elena hurriedly scanned the page before discarding it in favor of another, only half listening to Lennox now, "Hmmm?"

 _"_ _Who did?"_

"What?" She growled, re-reading a suspicious paragraph.

"Elena, who gave the clearance and final approval for all of these visiting politicians and their henchmen?"

Finding what she needed—but not wanted—Elena placed the paper she had been scrutinizing flat on the desk and with a flick of her wrist spun it around to face Lennox. "General Morshower selected most, but not _all_ , of the representatives who are here. It was an arrangement meant to show that we're open to talks about the Autobots sharing technology. But that's all it was supposed to be, just an empty and meaningless gesture to pacify a few politicians." She huffed out a sigh, "So, at least we know that anyone Moreshower granted clearance to are neither a threat or concern. But this was a joint effort…"

"Between General Morshower and?" Lennox swallowed thickly as he looked down at the paper and the name Elena pointed out for him. He blinked in shock as he read it once and then twice again, as if he could somehow deny that it was there, printed and signed so neatly and irrevocably.

"Mearing," venom dripped from Elena's voice as she practically spat out the name, "Director Mearing gave Attinger and Joyce clearance."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: At long last...on with the plot.**

Chapter 13

"Well, damn," Lennox snarled, "damn. It."

"Damnit to hell and back." Elena agreed.

Expectantly, Lennox regarded her, "Call her."

Elena blinked, "Excuse me?"

"Call her. Right now. You heard me."

"Oh, I heard you, alright. I just wasn't sure something so stupid came out of your mouth."

Lennox leaned forward, "You have to call Mearing and tell her to revoke Attinger's clearance."

"No," Elena huffed, "I'm not going to do that."

"Why the hell not? You've stood up to Mearing before."

"When I needed to yes, but this is not one of those times."

Lennox's voice soured, "Sure looks like one of those times to me."

Elena pressed her lips together into a thin frustrated line, "Look, neither of us likes the woman, but she technically hasn't done anything wrong."

"She let Attinger on base," Lennox growled.

Calmly Elena explained, "Yes, which she technically has the right and authority to do." Before Lennox could object, Elena held up a hand to stop him, "I don't like it anymore than you do, but all this proves is that Mearing is Attinger's connection to N.E.S.T."

Grimly, Lennox assessed the situation, "So we need to assume that anything Mearing knows about the Autobots and the base, Attinger knows, too."

Elena calmly explained, "Calling Mearing and snarling at her for being connected to Attinger isn't going to help, in fact it would probably make matters worse, because it would give her a reason to start sniffing further into N.E.S.T. business."

"You mean our business." Lennox corrected her.

Elena nodded slowly, "She could launch plenty of uncomfortable investigations on us that would leave both of us mired in pointless paperwork for months. She could keep us so bogged down with squabbling bureaucrats that we wouldn't be able to focus on what truly matters here—our people, our team and the Autobots. We're the shield between grubbing politicians, corporations and the Autobots. Optimus knows how to be diplomatic when he wants to, I'll give him that, but he doesn't always understand how humans think and act." Elena let out a defeated sigh, "Lennox, she could even get us both reassigned."

"So, what? We just let this go?"

"Lennox, right now we have bigger problems on our doorstep. At least we know about Attinger's connection to Mearing now, so we won't be blindsided by it again." Elena leaned forward slightly, "And we need to start screening anything and everything that might get back to Mearing. We have to assume that she and Attinger are in constant communication."

His frustration at the situation building again, Lennox retorted, "She's just like Attinger…she manipulates everyone." He folded his arms across his chest, "I guess we should have seen this coming though, you know how she feels about the Autobots."

"Yes, I do." Elena answered sharply, "and so do you. So, don't you start to try to imply she's the true enemy here."

Thrown by her tone, Lennox looked back at her blankly, but she continued before he could respond, "We both know that there is no love lost between Mearing and the Autobots," Elena conceded, " _but_ she's made it clear she isn't their enemy. She may not like them, but she at least recognizes that we need them." When Lennox held on to his wall of stubborn silence, Elena pushed, "Lennox…while Mearing and Attinger may think alike at times—which seems to be the case now—it doesn't mean that they are alike. She can be manipulated, just like everyone else, and this Attinger seems to be the kind of man who operates outside of regulation."

"You really think Attinger manipulated Mearing somehow into giving him clearance —" But Lennox's words were drowned out by the sound of Elena's office phone shrilly ringing.

Watching Lennox carefully, Elena answered it, "Director O'Connor." She spoke tersely into the receiver and listened grimly to the unfamiliar voice on the other end of the line. After a pause, she said in a flat tone, "Am I supposed to be impressed?"

Nonplussed, Lennox tilted his head and mouthed silently at her, _"Who is that?"_

Elena shrugged, shaking her head, _"No one I know—"_ she mouthed back to him before answering her mysterious caller, "Even if what you're saying is true, what makes you think that I'm just going to up and give you permission to—"

But she was cut off by the other individual's sharp retort. She frowned as she continued to listen, liking less and less of what she was being told. After long minutes, she barked out a laugh, "You can just go ahead and try."

Whatever the voice on the other end of the line told her, Elena lifted an eyebrow at, "Oh he did, did he?" She suppressed an icy laugh, "I think Fury's definition of friendship is entirely different than mine…" She pressed her lips into a thin line, listening intently before she spoke again. "Can you verify that?" she told the caller, then after another pause she snapped, "See that you do."

Nerves unsettled his stomach once more as Lennox watched his friend's expression darken, "Fine." She said icily, "Oh, and Secretary? I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your friend, Director Fury…I don't like it when people poach on my territory." Whatever the caller thought of that, Elena's only reply was to hang up, slamming the receiver down with more temper than discretion.

She clenched her jaw before asking Lennox simply, "Do you know the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross?"

"No…" Lennox answered hesitantly.

"Well, Wanda Maximoff does."

Before Lennox could respond, Elena continued, "As a matter of fact, so does Captain Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Scott Lang _and_ Sam Wilson." She swallowed thickly, "And it seems as though this Mr. Ross had quite a bit to say about our guests and their legal status…"

# # #

Approaching the small house tucked away on the far side of the base, away from the hustle and bustle of daily operations, Steve marveled at how inviting the butter yellow lights shining through the kitchen window looked. His shoes crunched on the gravel as he walked up the drive; he could just distinguish errant strands of conversation, punctuated by laughter. On the air he could smell something savory, something laced with garlic and onion cooking. _Had to be Barton_ , he thought to himself; out of everyone, Clint seemed to be the only one who not only enjoyed cooking, but seemed to be genuinely good at it. But that was because Barton had something that most of them didn't: Barton had a family. _So did Lang_ , Rogers internally corrected himself. But somehow Rogers could never quite imagine Lang mastering anything more complex in the kitchen than a T.V. dinner.

"Home sweet home right, Captain?"

Steve glanced at his companion and returned the younger soldier's smile. No one had ordered Corporal Stuart Seeley to give Rogers a ride back from base that day, rather the solider had offered it freely, out of friendship. Besides Lennox and Epps, Stuart seemed to be one of the few N.E.S.T. operatives that had made an overture of genuine friendship toward Rogers and the others. Moreover, he was one of the few who had been able to put his awe of the Avengers aside enough to see them as people rather than icons.

"Feels that way, Corporal Seeley."

"Captain, please call me Stuart."

As Rogers stepped up onto the small porch, the younger N.E.S.T. soldier hung back several paces, clearly not wishing to intrude or over step his bounds. Before the younger solider could snap the salute he was itching to give, Rogers tipped his head towards the door.

"Why don't you come in and join us, Stuart?" Rogers found himself genuinely liking the corporal, "I can guarantee that whatever Barton is cooking up, will probably be better than the mess hall."

Stuart grinned, "I wouldn't doubt you there, Captain Rogers."

"Steve." Rogers corrected the other.

The soldier's answering grin nearly took in his ears, "Steve." He echoed, but just as he took a half step forward, as though to accept the invitation offered, the growl of an approaching engine broke the ease of the moment, filling the space between the two near-friends. Instantly, Stuart stiffened and turned toward the approaching vehicle. The night drenched flames were muted, but even without them, there was no mistaking the Autobot leader. Without inhibition, Prime pulled right up into the driveway and without a pause for greetings, transformed into his bipedal form.

His cerulean optics shifted to first regard Stuart, "Good evening, Corporal Seeley." While Rogers couldn't claim any true familiarity with the Autobot, there was no mistaking his terse tone—this was no greeting.

It was a dismissal.

Apparently, Stuart didn't miss it either and snapped off a quick salute to first Prime, and then to Rogers.

Just as Stuart retreated toward his N.E.S.T. issued jeep, Rogers couldn't help but call out to the other, "Tomorrow then, Stuart?" He asked, stepping away from the front door and tucking his hands in his pockets casually, despite the fact that he felt nothing of the sort. But there was no use in letting Stuart know that. After all, the younger soldier was—like every other N.E.S.T. operative—fully acclimated to the Autobot's presence.

Stuart paused, keys in hand, "Will Barton be cooking?" he asked, his tone light.

Rogers nodded his head once, "You can count on it."

Stuart smiled, "Tomorrow then..." there was a heartbeat of a pause as Stuart glanced over to Prime, who had thus far waited silently, "Goodnight, sir."

Rogers waited, his gaze trained on Stuart's jeep until even the tail lights were swallowed up in the darkness. Feeling the tension seep back into his shoulders, Rogers shifted to acknowledge the Autobot Leader at last.

"Wanda Maximoff is on her way here." Optimus rumbled before Rogers could greet him, "Before she arrives, we have much to discuss, Captain."

And just like that, gone was the ease of the evening, "Has something happened?" It was hard to keep one's voice even when looking up into the face of a titian.

As Optimus regarded him, Rogers realized, for the first time, that his battle mask was in place, shielding his facial features. As if from a decade ago, Rogers recalled Elena's words from when they first arrived on base: _Standing so close to Optimus, Elena reached up easily and rapped her clipboard against Prime's facial plating with a hollow clang, "It's his battle mask, he can use it to shield his face during combat…or when he's cranky," She smirked._

So, Optimus was on the defensive.

"When you and your team arrived, I offered you my trust," Prime's sonorous tone washed over Rogers.

"Prime, if you have something to say, I suggest you say it." Steve didn't attempt to keep the bite out of his voice. Not after the way Prime had dismissed Stuart, and certainly not if the Autobot was about to accuse him—or any of his team—of breaking faith.

"Wanda Maximoff crossed a line today." There was no denying the displeasure in the other's voice, "She was seen in the company of a politician."

"Last I checked, talking with a politician is not a crime." Rogers retorted.

Optimus narrowed his optics at the other, and Rogers found himself taking a half step back without consciously deciding to do so. He felt suddenly aware of the other's proximity, of the vastness of that alien intelligence—and strength. Even with all of his abilities, all of his training and experience, Rogers seriously doubted if he would stand a ghost of a chance against an enraged Optimus. Perhaps it would be best to tread lightly—or rather, lighter than he had been. Afterall, the Autobot was not his enemy.

"It is not a crime." Optimus conceded after an uncomfortable moment, "But it is cause for concern. Captain Rogers, this particular politician's known associates have been working actively against N.E.S.T….against the Autobots." After another heartbeat of silence, Optimus moved to slowly kneel, no longer towering over the other. "Captain," he spoke again, and while his inflection hadn't changed, Rogers sensed the shift in Prime's mood, "This politician passed information to Ms. Maximoff."

"And you have proof of that?"

Optimus bowed his head in a regal nod, "Bumblebee witnessed the exchange in its entirety." The Autobot Leader exvented, "Captain Rogers, if this were not a grave matter, as I fear it is, I would not be here."

"I thought I heard males grumbling at each other." Like a whip-crack, Natasha Romanoff's voice sounded behind Rogers.

Gritting his teeth, he murmured, "Nat…not a good time."

Her gaze shifted over to the Autobot Leader, "Lucky for you, I've never known what a good time is. I operate exclusively in the shit-has-hit-the-fan kind of time." She nudged her chin in Optimus' direction, "What's he doing here this time of night?" Instead of waiting for Rogers' answer, Natasha simply walked around Steve to stand directly before the Prime. Rogers couldn't help but admire her boldness.

"You wanna tell me what's going on or just continue to growl at my friend here?"

"I do not appreciate your levity, Ms. Romanoff."

"I don't think you know what levity is." She quipped back.

 _"_ _Natasha."_ Rogers reached forward, his fingertips brushing against her forearm.

Optimus shifted, bringing his countenance on level with Natasha's. With narrowed optics he ground the gears in his throat together in a harsh, threatening sound: an Autobot growl. Natasha had hit a nerve. Instantly, Rogers was transported back to just days ago, when Optimus had confided in him about Megatron. Flashes of the nightmarish image Fury had shown him so many years ago assaulted him; of hard, unyielded edges, a sharp tangle of talons and claws, of fiery, damning eyes…Megatron, a true construct of evil and destruction… _"He was my brother."_

 _…_ _the blunt honesty of his words hit home with Rogers… "He was my brother."_

In that moment, Rogers couldn't help but wonder how close the similarities struck true. Forcibly pulling himself back into the present, Steve was startled to find Optimus' discerning gaze upon him, rather than Romanoff.

"Captain," he rumbled, "we are beyond the mere question of Wanda Maximoff's loyalty."

"You can bet your tin can ass, you are. Wanda would never betray any of you," Romanoff snapped defensively, "because it would mean betraying us."

Rogers stepped forward, close enough now to Prime he could hear the slight sigh of pistons and gears as the Autobot tracked his movements and the great frame shifted ever so slightly, "You said we are beyond the question…then why are you really here, Prime?"

"The hour is later than you can imagine, Captain." Optimus moved to stand, "I fear because of Wanda's actions, there are now greater forces in motion. Your presence here is no longer a secret..." He paused, his voice heavy and thick, "You need to prepare your team for what may come tomorrow."

"And what exactly is coming tomorrow?" Natasha asked before Steve could.

"Not what, but who," Optimus shuttered his optics once, that piercing cerulean gaze flickering, "A human named Thaddeus Ross."

For a moment, Steve forgot how to breathe.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

 _"_ _This road is long,_

 _And I've been here all alone._

 _Now that you're gone_

 _It's all coming undone,_

 _Because you're the only one._

 _I needed you by my side…_

 _Don't let this world die in darkness._

 _Don't let me drown in this silence._

 _Remember your promise…_

 _Our end feels near_

 _It's everything I'd feared,_

 _Everything we've feared._

 _Time just passed us by,_

 _I need you by my side_

 _Never let go of your promise_

 _Because time is ticking by…_

 _And I'm drowning in this silence…"_

 _(Fytch, "Promise")_

Wanda woke the next morning convinced that with the coming of the dawn, her doom would follow swiftly on its heels. But all was deathly quiet. Pushing herself out of bed, she quickly showered, dressed and steeled herself for what waited. As she moved through the familiar routine she felt numb and hollow; a puppet whose strings were being pulled. Making her way into the kitchen, she tentatively peered out of the window, expecting to see the view clogged with soldiers, tanks and Ross himself waiting on her doorstep for her.

But all was still. Nothing outside had changed, and the only vehicle in sight was Bumblebee parked politely beside the curb. She knew Prime had probably ordered him to stand watch to ensure none of them tried to sneak away in the night, but she didn't care. Instead, she let herself feel reassured by his friendly presence.

A terse knock sounded on the front door, a thunderclap that caused her to give a breathless shriek. She froze, unwilling to answer, to move.

"Wanda?" the familiar voice called out to her, and she closed her eyes, bowing her head in relief. She took several deep calming breaths, but her heart still kicked against her ribs as she moved to answer the door. Scarcely had she left the kitchen when the front door was opened for her.

Steve Rogers walked in, Nat, Clint and Sam close at his heels.

"Hey," Rogers greeted her gently, his voice kind but his eyes worried and cold.

"Hey kid," Clint spoke up, "Get any sleep last night?" he asked as he leaned against the entryway wall.

"No." She knew she sounded sullen, but she couldn't help it, "Did any of you?"

Clint offered her a smile, "I thought it was more fun staying up watching Nat, watch Bumblebee, watch you."

Wanda swallowed thickly as the archer confirmed her suspicion that the Autobot had indeed been posted outside all night.

"Hey Clint, don't check you morning coffee. I'm sure it will be perfectly safe to drink." Nat quipped back as she took up a post by the window and peered outside.

"Joke's on you, I already had my morning coffee before you came over," Clint smirked.

"Yeah, but I didn't." Sam looked suspiciously over at Nat.

"Relax flyboy, you're safe, you're not on my list…yet."

Having grown tired of the playful banter, Rogers took a step toward Wanda, pulling everyone's focus with his movement. "Whatever happens today, we're all with you," he told her calmly, as if it were so simple, "We're not going to let them take you."

Wanda nodded, feeling numb. "Where's Scott?" she asked, hating how shaky her voice sounded.

"Oh, Tic-Tac is with us, too." Sam spoke up, "…just as soon as he wakes up." He shrugged casually, "I'll give him another ten minutes or so to get his ass up on his own before I drag him out."

"Wanda," Rogers spoke, his tone firm, "We felt it best to all go to the base together—"

Already Wanda was shaking her head, "No, you can't. Ross only knows that I'm here—"

"Where one of us goes, we all go," Nat murmured, interrupting her, "Ross is smart and I'm sure he suspects there are a few more of us nearby."

"—if he doesn't just assume we're all here," Clint added.

"Which we have to assume." Rogers finished, "Look, this is not up for discussion. It makes more sense for us to all be together. Lennox and his team may have their hands tied and may not be able to intervene, but I'm not going to let Ross take you and throw you back into that prison…not without a fight."

"What about the 'bots?" Sam asked hesitantly.

Wanda saw Rogers jaw clench, "I don't think they can help us either."

"Bumblebee…" Wanda started.

"…He may be your friend, but he is a soldier, too. A soldier who has to take orders." Rogers reminded her, "I already spoke with Prime—"

"Glad to hear you're keeping up with friends." Nat breathed venomously.

Rogers half-turned toward her, "Like him or not, we need him."

"But you said the 'bots can't help us?" Sam questioned.

"Technically…no they can't," Rogers amended, "I asked Optimus and he told me that the Autobots have sworn never to harm humans."

"So, no help there," Nat concluded sharply.

"Doesn't matter," Clint spoke up, "I don't need help from any of the Autobots to keep Wanda with us and out of prison."

Solemnly, Sam nodded in agreement, "I'm not goin' back to that place, and neither are you, Wanda."

"I appreciate all of you, I do, and I appreciate all of your support," Wanda told them somberly, "But you're acting like we have any kind of choice in the matter. Ross has every right to take me, and all of you, straight back to that…cage." Wanda shuddered at the memory of it.

"No, he doesn't." Rogers told her firmly, "None of us belong being locked away, and I'm not going to let that happen to you or to any of us." He shifted to regard the rest of them, "So we're agreed. Whatever happens, whatever Ross may or may not do, we handle it…together."

"Steve…" Nat spoke up softly, "What if Ross brings in Tony…"

"I'd thought of that," Rogers answered unflinchingly, although his heart was heavy, "and it doesn't change anything. I won't let it."

# # #

The arrival of the Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross wasn't as bad as Wanda had feared.

It was worse. Much, much worse.

Sheltered as they were within the Autobot hanger, they didn't hear the tail-tale growl of an approaching helicopter until late that afternoon. The sun, at its hottest hour of the day, was already lustering into the golden orange glow that hinted at the dusk to come, when the sound of helicopter blades broke the heavy pall that had descended upon the hanger. It wasn't until it landed that Director O'Connor, Lennox and Epps emerged from her office.

The sharp snap of her metallic blue high heels sounded like the crackle of thunder as she moved to stand in the middle of the hanger with Lennox and Epps flanking her. She would make the Secretary and his henchmen come to her.

They stood in front of the Avengers; literally, the first line of defense. Rogers hated to admit it, but he hadn't expected as much from N.E.S.T's high command. Fisting a hand on her hips, she turned to regard the Avengers briefly, catching each of their gazes in turn, "Besides what is obviously at stake for all of you," she told them rigidly, "You also hold the lives of others in your hands." Her gaze flitted to where Bumblebee and Sideswipe had obstinately parked, having refused to leave, "I don't need to remind you that with a few misplaced words…you could destroy the only sanctuary they have."

Rogers nodded tersely, answering for the rest of the team, "I don't think any of us are in a talking mood." He moved, then, to stand beside Wanda, and noted with approval when Nat and Barton moved to flank her; leaving Sam and Scott to shift to in turn flank him protectively. Nat's fingertips brushed the tops of her pistols in anticipation, while Barton seemingly casually let his bow dangle in his fingertips—it was a ruse, Rogers knew. Between one heart beat and the next, Barton could snatch his bow up and fire at least two rounds at a target before anyone could ask what had happened. Beside him, Sam stood at the ready, the wings of his Falcon gear tucked against his back, but similarly ready to be deployed at a moments notice. The only one Rogers wondered about was Lang, whose suit had been destroyed before their incarceration. But he grimly returned Roger's questioning gaze, letting his hand drift to the sidearm that Nat had loaned to him; whatever may come, he would face it without hesitation.

Adjusting the grip on his shield, taking solace in its familiar weight on his arm, Rogers looked back to where Elena, Lennox and Epps waited. He started in shock when a pair of unearthly electric blue eyes looked back at him: General Pax stood shoulder to shoulder with Elena, and inclined his head to Rogers in acknowledgement. The Autobots were with them.

It didn't take long for the Secretary of State's entourage to find them.

Three black SUV's rumbled into the hanger, blocking off any exit, they came to a halt twenty yards away from where Elena and the others stood.

Tilting her chin up defiantly, Elena took a handful of steps forward as Ross emerged from the center vehicle, along with Harold Attinger and Joshua Joyce. Rogers allowed himself a fleeting sigh of relief when he didn't see Tony emerge.

"You must be Director O'Conner," Ross greeted her, tucking his hands in his pockets as Attinger and Joyce lingered several paces behind him. Unseen, Lennox clenched his fists behind his back at the sight of the sneer on Attinger's face.

"Mr. Secretary." Elena responded icily.

Ross looked past her, "Captain Rogers…I'm surprised to see you again, so soon." Although he didn't sound surprised in the least.

"Mr. Secretary." Elena drew his attention, "I told you once before that I don't appreciate it when someone tries to poach on my territory.

"Poaching?" Ross scoffed at her, "Look who has been poaching. You have _my_ operatives stashed away on _your_ base. Illegally, I might add seeing as they're currently fugitives."

"They have proper authorization and clearance to be here." Elena snapped back.

"Oh, really?" Ross was far from convinced, "And who issued clearance to known fugitives?"

"I did." General Pax rumbled.

"And…" Ross hesitated as he spared a glance over all of the medals pinned to General Pax's pristine uniform, "…General, were you aware that they have violated several laws and—"

"—I am aware that you have no jurisdiction here, Mr. Secretary." General Pax replied smoothly.

Ross huffed, "Look, we can stand here all day growling at each other, and as entertaining as that might be, it ultimately would be a waste of time." He looked past them to Rogers and the others, "Captain…you and the others need to come with me now."

Rogers didn't flinch, "I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request, Mr. Secretary."

Lang leaned forward to look at Rogers in shock, asking in a harsh whisper, "Since when do you watch _Pirates of the Caribbean?"_

"It was on T.V. last night…and I couldn't find the remote…" he muttered back out of the side of his mouth, before turning his attention back to Ross

"Funny, Rogers, real funny." Ross quipped back, "Look, you're not going to fight your way out of this one…not like last time."

Rogers steeled himself, "I will if I have too."

Ross sighed, apparently, he had expected as much from Rogers, "I had hoped you'd all see reason this time…but clearly you're not going to listen to me…" Ross lifted a hand in a wordless signal and in response, one of the side doors of the SUV parked on the right opened. "So, I thought if you won't listen to me, maybe you'd be willing to listen to _him._ "

Rogers clenched his jaw, meeting that all too familiar piercing gaze, as his friend walked by Ross. He paused only long enough to allow Elena and General Pax to shifted to the side and allow him room to pass. He met General Pax's intense and scrutinizing gaze with his own, and after a lingering look, moved to stand before Rogers and the others directly.

"Captain Rogers," He said softly, in that painfully familiar, even cadence.

Beside him, Rogers heard Wanda's sharp intake of air, and Steve shifted closer, giving unspoken support.

After a long and wary look at Rogers, he shifted his gaze to her. When he spoke, it was gentle and comforting, "Wanda…it doesn't have to be this way…"

Her breath hitched, and all she could manage to say, in a winded whisper, was one word. His name.

 _"_ _Vision…"_


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Warning: brief use of strong language.**

 **Thank you for reading, please R & R if you can.**

Chapter 15

Steve was grateful when Elena offered them the conference room, built into the back of the Autobot hanger, besides Lennox's office. He was even more appreciative that Lennox had thoughtfully closed the blinds so no one standing within the hanger could watch. He couldn't imagine what he or any of the others could possibly say to Vision—or what the stoic Avenger could say to them—but he was thankful he didn't have to say it in front of Ross and his henchmen. As far as Rogers was concerned, this didn't involve Ross and his petty politics. This was about the team…about the family that he had found along the way.

When Steve walked into the drab conference room, he had to hand it to Lennox. Besides a long conference table and an array of chairs, the wide room was completely empty. There was no typical business meeting wayward clutter, no water pitcher, no glasses, no coffee-maker: there was nothing to throw, and nothing that could be used as a weapon.

Smart man.

The moment Natasha and Clint crossed the threshold, they immediately made for the table. They worked in silent tandem; deftly running their hands under the smooth metal surface, checking around and under chairs, wanting to leave nothing to chance and expecting nothing less from Ross than petty eavesdropping.

"There is no need," while Vision spoke quietly, his voice nonetheless carried clearly, "I have already scanned the room for any electronic listening devices." He met Natasha's icy glare calmly, "Whatever is said within these walls, will remain between us."

The rest of the team filed in wordlessly, choosing seats toward the center of the table. A neutral position. This was Vision after all, and despite the tension that clogged the air, no matter which line they stood behind, they would listen. Wanda filed in last, and Nat was quick to pull out a seat between her and Clint. Her cold gaze was tantamount to a command: sit here. Only a fool would disobey a look like that from the infamous assassin and Wanda was no fool.

Having lingered by the door, Steve turned to close it after Wanda had walked past him. Briefly, his eyes met Lennox's, who lingered a half-dozen paces outside. The N.E.S.T. commander nodded once at Steve.

"Captain…" Lennox murmured quietly, "Whatever you need."

Wordlessly, Steve nodded his thanks in return before he quietly turned away. At the very least, it was nice to know they had N.E.S.T.'s support. Rogers allowed himself one last fleeting glance over to where Bumblebee parked. Rather than risk any attempt by Ross to reclaim their specialized gear and weapons, they had agreed to stash them in the Autobot. Another curt nod of thanks, this time to the inhuman scout, and Rogers shut the door with a click of finality.

"Captain." Vision was the first to speak once again, "How did you come to this place?"

Lang answered before Rogers could, gesturing to the air briefly, "They have these things called helicopters. Pretty handy. Gets you lots of places." Seated besides him, the corner of Sam's mouth twitched in a fleeting smirk.

Thinking it for the best, Rogers elected to ignore Lang's response, addressing Vision instead, "I called a friend."

"Yeah, turns out we all have friends. More friends now." Lang prattled, "Friends are great, aren't they? I mean, without friends there would be no point to Taco Tuesdays… maybe that's what we oughta do, you know, hash this whole thing out over tacos."

"Lock it up, Tic-Tac," Sam muttered, despite the twitch that threatened to become a smile.

"So, this place, and this unit…" Vision did not acknowledge Lang's chatter, "they are your friends?" He asked carefully.

Steve swallowed, a beat of hesitation, "Yes."

Vision flicked his citrine gaze over to each of them, dismayed by the number of stony expressions that looked back at him, "I fear this place may have secrets…dangerous secrets."

"And what could possibly make you think that a military base would be dangerous or have secrets?" Natasha asked, her tone dry and biting with frigid sarcasm.

"There are energy signatures here…strange readings…that I cannot explain and have never seen before." Vision turned toward Steve, who had thus far continued to linger by the door, "Captain, I do not believe this unit is telling you everything. Something is not right here."

"I'll tell you what's not right," Sam snapped, "You, rollin' up with Ross' cavalry, ready to lock us all back up and throw away the key."

"That is not why I am here."

Wanda at last spoke up, her voice low and as stiff as her posture, "Then why, Vision?" She closed her eyes as she spoke, unable to look at him, not yet. Beneath the table, Nat silently reached for her hand, offering what support she could with the simple gesture.

"He's here because Ross has an offer for us," Clint drummed his fingertips against the table, "Something tempting enough to bait the trap he's about to spring."

"That is not wholly accurate," Vision spoke, his voice low, "I am here because Ross believed that you might listen to me."

"Fine." Steve sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, "Everyone seems to think that you're the one to listen to, Vision." He shrugged, "So…we're listening. What do you have to say?"

Vision bowed his head, his gaze searching each of their expressions before, at last, coming to rest on Wanda, "It does not have to be this way." He breathed. There was a stretch of silence, the distance between heart beats before he continued, "Ross and S.H.I.E.L.D. have authorized me to extend to you—to all of you—deals."

Sam scoffed, "You mean you're here to offer us an upgraded prison cell. So, what do we get now? Cable T.V.? Maybe a magazine and the right to make one phone call once every other year?"

Sadly, Vision looked to him, "I am not here to send any of you back to prison," he straightened, "I am here to try to send you back to your families." Vision looked to Clint, "Do you not miss your wife and children, Clint?" He shifted to regard Lang, "Or you, Scott? Do you not miss your daughter?"

The silence that resounded through the small conference room was deafening.

"Damn you, Vision." Clint finally hissed through clenched teeth, "Damn you for coming here, and dangling our families before us."

Sam shook his head at Vision, "Have you no shame, man? That's below the belt."

"You could go home. You could have your lives back." Vision stated simply, refusing to be mired in their emotion.

Lang swallowed thickly, "What's the catch?" He dared to ask.

Beside him, Sam looked as though a land mine had exploded, "You can't believe him…" he gestured at Vision, "This isn't his offer! This is Ross talking! This is S.H.I.E.L.D." He shook his head, "You can't do this, bro."

"Lang…" Natasha spoke up, "S.H.I.E.L.D. wrote the book on emotional manipulation. The moment you accept any kind of deal, the only place they're going to send you is into a dark hole that you will never climb out of." She looked to Clint, met his gaze, and saw the shadows, the doubt, the aching loneliness reflected there and she froze. "Clint…" she searched her best friend's expression, "Tell them…tell them it's a lie…"

Clint didn't have an answer for her.

Instead, Vision continued. "It is not a lie, but rather a compromise. Should you choose to accept it, you can return to your families…to your homes, under the condition that you abide by a mandate of two years of house arrest, followed by three years of probation."

"What sort of probation?" Lang found himself asking. Sam threw up his hands and leaned away from Lang.

Vision met his gaze unerringly, "During your three-year probation, you may not communicate with any part or party who has violated the Sokovia Accords."

"You do this…" Sam snapped at Lang, "There is no going back."

"It's…it's my family…" Lang told Sam slowly, at a loss, "It's my daughter…" he told him softly.

Natasha's gaze never wavered from Clint's stony expression, as Lang and Sam's words reached her numbly, "We're family, too." She sought to remind him.

The archer clenched his jaw, locking up words.

"Yeah, maybe you are all," Lang told them, "But I just signed on because Captain America called me…" Lang searched Steve's face, "You called me…you asked me to come…you told me the world was at stake…" Lang shook his head, "I couldn't let my little girl's world end…"

"Scott, you stood with them when their world was at it's darkest…" Natasha told him sternly, "You can't just walk away from that."

"Yeah, and where were you, little miss Widow?" Lang snapped, "Oh, yeah, that's right, I forgot, you were too busy trying to knock Barton's teeth out."

"Enough!" Steve barked and all eyes turned to him, "Everyone, take a breath." Following his own advice, he moved to stand at the head of the table, beside Vision, "If anyone accepts this deal…that is their choice and it will not change anything…it can't." He took a moment to look at each one of them individually, "Because our team…or family is not conditional."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the silence thickened.

After another minute had dragged on, he mumbled to Lang, "I'm…I'm sorry, Tic-Tac."

Before Lang could acknowledge Sam's words, Rogers called to him, "Scott, you're right. You're here because of me, because I asked you to be."

"Steve—" Natasha shook her head.

Rogers silenced her with a look before he continued, "Look, everyone is here because everyone made a choice…a choice to sacrifice everything." He let out a breath, "If this is real…if this is truly a chance to take back, even a little, of what you lost…I will not stand in anyone's way." He caught Lang and then Barton's gaze, "…nor would I ever condemn you for it."

Barton reached up to scrub his face with his hands, hands worn and scared from standing upon countless battlefields, as he finally broke his silence, "Time, Vision…I think…I think we need time…"

Steve slowly nodded in agreement, before turning back to Vision, "What can you give us?"

Vision didn't hesitate, "Everything I can…" He searched their beleaguered faces, "I will speak to, Ross."

# # #

Ross wasn't pleased.

Vision had scarcely explained the request as the others slowly trickled out of the conference room, when Ross pushed past him to round on Steve.

"This isn't complicated, Rogers." Ross barked, "It's a generous deal. One time only. I suggest you take it. You're not exactly in a position to take another last stand." He gestured angrily at the first Avenger, "You try to fight your way out of this one and I promise you, you'll lose more than you could ever imagine."

"It's S.H.I.E.L.D." Rogers stated simply, "It's always complicated." He didn't back down, "I'm not asking for anything unreasonable and you know it."

Ross huffed, "You assume I'm a patient man."

"I wouldn't dare assume anything about you." Rogers responded flatly.

Ross shook his head considering. He took a half step toward where Lennox and General Pax waited with Elena and Epps. "A base this size shouldn't have much trouble accommodating a few more guests." He told her, "If you really do want to help, you'll give my men and I one day here so I can return this favor to the Captain."

Elena's steel grey eyes flashed, "Now who's presuming much?"

"Director…" Rogers looked to her, "Please…one day is not so much to ask to determine how the rest of our lives might be spent."

Instead of answering him, Elena shifted to share a fleeting look with General Pax. Somberly, he nodded once in acquiescence and she sighed, resigned. Rogers' eyes narrowed as he watched the wordless exchange. Not that he was surprised, but it was nice to know who actually commanded all of N.E.S.T.

"Corporal Seeley," She called and when Stuart seemingly materialized with two additional N.E.S.T. operatives, she told them tersely, "Make arrangements for our guests."

With a crisp salute, Stuart addressed Ross, "If you would follow me, sir."

Ross pointed at Rogers before he turned to follow the younger solider, "One day, Rogers. Twenty-four hours and this deal doesn't exist anymore…and if you don't accept my terms, neither will you or your team."

Wordlessly, Rogers watched him go but was distracted when Elena surprisingly rounded on General Pax. "You better be sure about this, Prime. Twenty-four hours with these people is an awfully long time."

General Pax's intense cerulean gaze was unreadable as he watched Elena depart.

# # #

While the others bickered—he distantly acknowledged hearing something about accommodations being made—Joyce turned his back to them. Opening his brief case, he retrieved two small vials, leaving a third safely tucked away. Breaking the seal on the first, he quickly rubbed the contents over his palms, careful to coat his hands thoroughly with it before breaking the seal on the second vial.

"Has that been field tested yet?" Attinger asked dryly as he sided up to Joyce, keeping his gaze on the Sokovia witch who had drifted away from everyone else to linger by the yellow Camaro. The very thought of these walking-weapons, these Avengers, forming any kind of rapport with the aliens was enough to make him want to level the entire base.

"You growing a conscience?" Joyce huffed as he poured the clear contents of the second vial similarly over his palms.

Attinger scoffed, "For the sake of home and country there is nothing I would not, or will not do," Behind his glasses his eyes flashed dangerously, "I just want results and I don't expect Ross to give them to me," he glanced over to Joyce, "Besides, you owe me a witch."

Joyce snapped his briefcase shut, allowing himself the few precious extra seconds for the undetectable compound to dry properly. "It'll work. You'll have your witch."

# # #

Wanda felt his presence before he spoke.

Her mind reeling as it struggled to cope with the suddenness of seeing _him_ again, of hearing _his_ sonorous voice had rattled her more than she could ever have anticipated. Drifting away from the others, she had become so embroiled in her own thoughts that she had narrowly avoided walking into the yellow Autobot, who had parked daringly close to the conference room within the hanger. Facing Bumblebee, she closed her eyes, willing her heart to steady, drinking in those costly moments needed to compose herself.

"Wanda…"

His voice called to her.

She felt it then. The brush of his fingertips against hers. At the butterfly gentle touch, she turned then, she couldn't help it.

His extraordinary gaze searching hers, he told her, again, "It does not have to be this way, Wanda."

"You act as though I have a choice."

"You always do."

She shook her head, blinking back tears, "How can you say that to me?"

He stepped closer to her then, reaching for her other hand, "Wanda…I…I am sorry…truly, I am."

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the tears that bit, stinging against the back of her eyes, "It's too late for that now, Vis."

Understanding, he bowed his head, "I should have been there for you…I should never have let them put you in such a place." He looked down to where his crimson fingers had captured her honey colored hands, "Let me prove to you…that I will never allow them to do it again. Let me be here for you…"

The sound of someone clearing their throat caused Wanda to nearly jump out of her skin. Shocked she blinked, dumbfounded as Joshua Joyce stepped closer to them.

"Sorry, to interrupt…" He chirped, giving a pointed look to Vision and Wanda's clasped hands, "Mind if I cut in?"

Giving Wanda's hand a quick squeeze, Vision released her but did not step away. "Is this a friend of yours?" He sounded as enthusiastic as Wanda felt at Joyce's appearance.

Her response was flat and cutting, "I know him."

Mockingly, Joyce placed a hand over his heart, "Oh my dear, you wound me!"

"I don't have anything to say to you."

"You don't have to, sugar..." Joyce attempted to sweet talk her.

"Do not refer to her in that manner." Vision corrected the politician, his tone severe.

"I just wanted to apologize…I never, in my wildest dreams, would have wanted to wrong someone so beautiful," Joyce continued undeterred, boldly stepping forward and capturing Wanda's hand. She would have pulled away but for the surprising strength of his grasp as he pressed her palm against his own. Deliberately, Joyce placed his other hand atop hers, "I just wanted you to know how sorry I am if our previous conversation caused you any trouble, and I hope you could find it in your generous heart to forgive me, the thought of losing our friendship pains me." He briefly lifted his hand to his heart and tapping it against his chest twice, "It gets me…right here, you know…"

"We're not friends," Wanda clenched her jaw, and tensed, wanting, needing to get away from him.

Beside her, Vision felt her heart rate rise, sensed her discomfort. "Let her go…" He rumbled.

But Joyce prattled on, heedlessly, as he replaced his hand atop hers once more, patting it gently, "Listen, my dear…I know there are all sorts of things being said around here, that promises are being tossed around…I just want you to know that you don't have to listen to any of their offers if you don't want to."

Wanda leaned away from him, beginning to pull her hand away, but Joyce held fast, stalling her attempt by capturing her attention, "My dear…you are extraordinary…but I just want you to ask yourself…did you always want to be so?"

Wanda froze.

"Because…" Joyce pitched his voice lower, carefully weaving his honey-coated words for her, "because if you didn't…I could help you." He watched with satisfaction as her gaze slowly started to become glassy, _perfect._ "I can offer you a normal life. If you accept my offer, I can make all of this political bullshit go away. _Poof_! Just like that."

And then…Vision was there, looming over Joyce. "I will not ask you again." He told Joyce, his timber as cold as a winter storm, "Let her go."

"Oh, oh, of course!" He laughed nervously, patting Wanda's hand soothingly before finally letting it drop, "Please excuse me! I just get caught up in the moment," He babbled to Vision, "I just wanted her to know that I sincerely didn't mean any offense." He regarded Wanda, "I just want to help…please, consider my offer…as a friend…you know how to reach me."

With a winning smile and wink, Joyce excused himself straight back to the SUV and quickly ducked inside. Attinger was already there. He watched mildly as Joyce made a brusque grab for his briefcase.

"Well?" Attinger asked as Joyce flung it open, snatching up the third vial and pouring the antidote generously over his hands, scrubbing hard enough to turn his skin raw.

Joyce couldn't meet the other's gaze, "It's done."

"How long?" Attinger pressed.

Joyce stopped scrubbing for a moment to look up at Attinger incredulously, "You know not everything is instant. The compound will take time to permeate her skin enough to reach her bloodstream. Even then, her powers might provide enough resistance to delay the effects even further."

Attinger was unmoved, "When?" his tone was dangerously monotonous.

Joyce caved, unable to cling to the heat of his anger, he looked away, "Your men can retrieve her tonight."

"That's it?"

Joyce nodded once, "That's it."

Skeptical, Attinger raise a brow, "And what kind of collateral damage should I prepare for?"

"None." Joyce huffed, wiping his hands dry with a towel, he finished neutralizing the compound on his palms, "I'll have the second dose ready for your men to administer when they collect her tonight."

"Triple the potency."

Joyce gawked at Attinger, "I…I… you can't! Couldn't! It's too much! It could-!"

"I said," Attinger elucidated each word frostily, "triple the potency."

When Joyce shrank against the seat, Attinger finally looked away, adjusting his tie coolly, "I don't want any entanglements. I want a clean and tidy pick up."

Pleased when Joyce remained mute, Attinger signaled for the driver to take them out of the hanger. Following predetermined instructions, the driver headed back toward the barracks. Attinger was already packed, ready to disappear into the night with his prize. He let his gaze idly drift out the window, toward the setting sun. He wouldn't send his men in until after night fell.

He'd have more than enough time for a celebratory drink before then. After all, it wasn't every day he was able to secure such a valuable asset.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Warning: This chapter contains the use of strong language.

Steve walked into the middle of the kitchen and just stood there, the silence of the entire house pushing in around him.

It was a brittle and bitting silence, as threatening and dangerous as black ice, with each passing moment leaving Rogers feeling tense and fragile. All he could do was wait and wonder what would come to shatter the quiet and fragment the stillness into the splitters of a sharper reality.

He wasn't hungry, he wasn't thirsty, he didn't need anything from within the kitchen, it was just a different place to stand. He had already gone for a run, cleaned up around the house as much as he could, and would have put the T.V. on—if just to have some kind of noise—but Lang had somehow lost the remote. He would have thought that he would have been comfortable with the hush by now, but he hadn't realized just how accustomed he had been to living at the Avenger complex…until now. Strange how, even when he had been alone back at the compound he never truly _felt_ alone. His friends— _family_ —had always been there. Whether it was Tony walled up in his lab, Romanov practicing at the on-sight shooting-range, or Sam and Rhodes going a few rounds in the boxing ring, he had always had an awareness of his friends' presence. At the complex, he never been alone, not really.

Now, all the stillness did was remind him of everything he had lost.

 _Knock. Knock._

Steve hated to admit his heart actually skipped a beat at the unexpected and intruding sound. His long strides carried him easily from the kitchen to the front door. A turn of the knob and…

He was surprised to find Lennox standing on the front porch, one hand casually tucked into his pocket, the other holding a plain bag.

"Hey…I…I just thought I'd drop by…" Lennox shrugged. While his tone was casual, Steve could read the uncertainty in the other soldier's eyes; he wasn't sure if his unexpected visit would be welcomed.

But Rogers didn't hesitate to step aside and invite Lennox in. After everything the N.E.S.T. operative had already done for him, Rogers wasn't about to turn him away. Holding the door open, instinctively Rogers scanned the front yard and surrounding area as Lennox walked past him. He was surprised to a hulking, forest green FMTV- M1083 tactical truck parked at the curb. The intimidating and aggressive assault vehicle wasn't one that Rogers would have thought Lennox would gravitate toward as a means of transportation—especially if this was supposed to be a casual visit. But even his brief time on the base had taught Rogers that any vehicle could be an Autobot, so, he quickly glanced over the tactical truck, looking for any tell-tail signs of the vehicle's origin—earthly or otherwise. Yet, when he didn't find any brazenly placed Autobot emblems, he still wasn't completely convinced it wasn't more than what it seemed.

But surely, if Lennox had brought an Autobot with him, he would have indicated as much to Rogers?

When Lennox mildly and wordlessly returned Steve's questioning gaze, Rogers decided not to push the matter. In any case, Lennox didn't need to disclose anything to Steve, let alone announce when any Autobot was in the vicinity. If Rogers and the others really were going to stay here for the foreseeable future, they needed to become acclimated to the constant presence of the robotic aliens.

Retreating into the living room, Rogers invited Lennox to sit and make himself comfortable.

"It's awfully quiet, where is everyone else?" Lennox couldn't help but ask as he placed the small bag he had brought with him on the table with a soft, distinctive _plunk_.

Rogers sank into the chair across from where Lennox had settled on the couch, "Everywhere," He offered simply.

Lennox nodded, knowing not to push and not wanting to pry. "Seems like everyone has lots to think about right now."

" It's not an easy decision for them, and it shouldn't be. In my experience, there is always a risk when it comes to accepting anything from S.H.I.E.L.D...more often than not, things are never what they seem to be," Steve didn't attempt to conceal what had transpired in the meeting with Vision. Of course, he didn't have to share anything with the N.E.S.T. soldier, but he recognized an offer of friendship when it was being made. Lennox wasn't here to look out for the interests of his respective unit, he was here to show support. Which is why Rogers wouldn't hold anything from Lennox, and it was why he knew what was in the bag that the career soldier had brought with him.

"More than meets the eye?" Lennox asked, a small smile glinting in his gaze.

Rogers blew out a breath, "you could certainly say that."

When the silence threatened to stretch between them, Lennox shifted forward in his seat, "You have any particular place to be this evening, Captain?"

Roger shook his head, "Please...just Steve."

"Alright, Steve... you keep any glasses in this place?" Lennox punctuated the question by reaching into the bag and unearthing an unmarked bottle filled with a rich amber liquid. "That..." Lennox explained, "is a bottle of some of Epps' best moonshine. It'll melt your teeth if you're not careful." He shrugged, " I thought with the day you've had, you could probably use a drink."

Rogers' answering smile was genuine, "I have to be honest with you..."He told Lennox as he retrieved two glasses from the kitchen. Sliding them over to Lennox, he sat back down, "...but it's not actually possible for me to feel any effects of alcohol."

Lennox didn't seem to be dissuaded in the least as he poured two rather generous servings for them. Although Rogers couldn't help but notice that Lennox offered him the larger glass. The N.E.S.T. Commander merely shrugged, "No harm in testing that."

With no where to be, and the gnawing ache of loneliness pushed aside in Lennox's presence, Steve raised a glass with the N.E.S.T. commander.

# # #

The echoes of an earth-shattering headache woke Wanda. Her joints creaking in protest, she lifted a clammy hand to her throbbing temple, squeezing her eyes against the insistent ache. It happened sometimes, these bone-grinding, rolling headaches that left her feeling scooped out and hollow. Usually she assumed it was some sort of far reaching side-effect from the experiments she and her brother had been subjected to, but this time it felt different, a new level of awful that settled in her gut, churning in her stomach, turning it sour with the realization that something was _wrong_. 

Disoriented, she worked to push herself up into a seated position. She squinted in the deepening gloom, and it was as she looked out the sliding glass door, the one that opened to a narrow backyard overrun with crab-grass, that she realized she was stretched out on the couch, back in her N.E.S.T loaned housing. The blue-grey light of approaching nightfall filtered into the room, a soft natural ambiance that her throbbing skull could only just tolerate. Swallowing a curse of discomfort she worked to sit up, noticing then the half consumed mug of tea—now long cold—that had been left abandoned on the coffee table. She cocked her head, clumsily grasping at the hazy jumble memories. Distantly she could recall snippets of conversation...the impression of voices...the smell of Bumblebee's leather interior as he drove her back to her home-away-from-home...the warmth of Vision's arms around her, supporting her, helping her settle on the couch...soothing warmth against her palms from the cup of tea Nat had pressed into her hands.

Blearily she blinked, taking in the quiet that had settled in around her. She was alone. No doubt her friends had left her some time ago, knowing she probably needed the rest. Stiff from her sprawl on the faded couch cushions, Wanda stood slowly. Taking a deep breath she gritted her teeth against the sensation of her stomach lurching with her movements, subdued as they were. With the floor rolling beneath her, Wanda seriously reconsidered her decision to move from the couch; her bed seemed an unfathomable distance away. To help steady herself, Wanda pressed a hand against the wall closest to her, surprised at how much her legs trembled beneath her. Goosebumps rose on her bare arms from a gnawing cold that had settled in her bones.

Maybe she was getting sick...she tried to reason her symptoms away. But her rationalizations fled as she tried to take another step and fell, her legs simply refusing to support her as she skinned her palm as she tried to catch herself. At a loss, Wanda summoned her powers, reaching for the reassuring warmth of energy. She reached...and reached...and reached...and found nothing. Fear coiled in her stomach now, as she lay against the tile floor, the cold from its smooth surface leaching into her, even through her clothes. Feeling disoriented, she attempted to will herself through it, reaching for her powers again. This time the attempt left her reeling, struggling to blink away the tunnel vision that descended, threatening to leave her senseless.

But Wanda was a fighter, and would not give up so easily. Again, she tried, reaching now not just for her powers, but for a mind. _Vision..._ she called with her mind as much as her heart... _Vision...please...hear...me._.. This time, the effort was too much, an iciness began to fill her limbs, making them heavy, numbing them beyond her control. She gasped to take a breath beneath the weight that had suddenly settled in her chest. Still that iciness advanced, grasping and pulling, pulling, pulling her into the vast darkness of unconsciousness.

Somewhere beyond her, a flat voice spoke into their comm. line: " Target is down. Ready for extraction."

A second's delay as confirmations were made and commands issued, and then a collection of operatives began to slowly detach themselves from the growing shadows, advancing toward Wanda's quarters. Yet, far beyond their furtive advancement, another reaction had been solicited.

 _Vision...please...hear...me..._

The caress of her whisper against his mind called to him. The pain in her sending alerted him that something was very, very wrong. Her plea for help decided him.

"Vision?" Ross couldn't quite keep the exasperation from his voice.

But he didn't answer, not immediately, his vast intelligence tuned in to the desperation that had filled the brief connection she had struggled to make with him. Anxious, he reached for the fragile thread of communication, but already it had withered, burnt out without her sustaining it. Nothing but silence answered him.

"I'm sorry Mr. Secretary...I have to go..."

Without another word of explanation, Vision launched himself into the deepening night, seemingly disappearing into the navy expanse of sky.

"What do you mean go? What's going on?" Ross snapped, knowing it was useless. With a huff, Ross shook his head and noticed something else for the first time. Concerned now, he turned to his assistant, "Where the hell is Attinger?!"

# # #

The gravel that lined the road to the cluster of housing units N.E.S.T. had assigned them crunched under Natasha's shoes. Beside her, Clint matched her stride, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. After the emotional upheaval that Vision had dumped on the team Nat hadn't been willing to let things stand on such uncertain terms between her and her oldest friend. Their subsequent conversations hadn't been easy, but they had been necessary.

"At least you'll finally get to finish the addition to the living room." She mused dryly as they approached the row of low houses.

"Yeah..." he answered his tone mild and distracted.

Nat lifted a finely arched brow as she regarded the archer, "No." she told him flatly.

"What?" He asked innocently.

"You are not knocking down the wall in the third bedroom."

Clint knew better than to ask her how she had known where his thoughts had wandered. Instead he changed tactics, "Expanding that room only makes sense. It would be stupid not to do it. The extra space would be perfect for the kid's rumpus room, it would mean—"

"That your wife would be furious?" She finished for him, her eyes sparkling with mirth. Nat rolled her neck to ease the tension that had settled in her shoulders as she listened to Clint, yet again, explain to her the necessity of his never ending string of home improvement projects. She swallowed against the faint irritation that had settled in her throat. Maybe she was coming down with something; it was unlikely, but possible. She could have easily picked up something from Wanda, who had clearly been feeling the strain from the emotion curve-ball they had been dealt earlier. Natasha let her gaze linger over Wanda's quarters, hoping the dark windows meant that her friend had settled in for a night of much needed rest. She slowed her pace, intending to voice to Barton her intention to check in on Wanda again. That was when she saw it. The brief flicker of light flash from behind the darkened window.

It wasn't the hesitant flash of light being turned on and then off again. It was the brief flare from a flashlight beam. Natasha froze misstep. Like the kind from a tactical light mounted on a glock.

Clint didn't need to ask her anything, he followed her gaze as well. He saw the flicker, saw a cluster of shadows move in the thickening darkness. Natasha felt Barton tense beside her, uttering a curse at the realization that he had left his bow in Bumblebee's backseat. It didn't matter though, it couldn't. Not when their friend needed them.

Like an arrow released from her oldest friend's bow, Natasha shot forward, "Move your ass!" She hissed at him, even as she reached behind her for one of her concealed carries. She tossed the glock to Barton without breaking stride, not bothering to looking in his direction, knowing he'd catch it. Between one step and the next, she pulled another pistol, this one a smaller caliber, from her ankle holster. Experience from a lifetime of field missions guided their movements wordlessly. She went left, he went right, disappearing around the side of the housing unit to flank her from the back.

Never being one for subtlety, Natasha went straight through the front door. One kick and it swung open. Using the momentum she dove forward in a fluid combat roll, her pistol snapping up...

Right in line with the operative's chest.

 _Got you, you son- of- bitch..._ Natasha didn't hesitate, she pulled the trigger once, the sound of her gunshot ripping open the under belly of the night. Before the surprised operative hit the floor she was already past him, moving through the house like liquid smoke. She made it as far as the living room—the empty living room—when she heard the _pop, pop, pop_ of Barton's glock.

 _They took Wanda out through the back_ , she coolly acknowledged. _Smart ass bastards knew better than to try and sneak her out the front._

She leapt over the small coffee table, distantly noting the shards from the broken mug, tea already staining the rug beneath. Just as her feet cleared the table's surface she heard the snarl of a round zip past her, narrowly missing her shoulder. She pivoted, mid-leap, snapping off two more rounds just as the cry of "Friendly!" reached her.

 _Well...shit..._

Transitioning into another combat roll, Natasha quickly snapped back up to her feet, just in time to hear the deeper responding _clang, clang,_ as her own well placed rounds were deflected harmlessly away by an all too familiar red, white and blue shield.

"Don't you knock first!" She muttered as she regained her feet.

"That's on me!" Another voice spoke from behind Rogers, who had seemingly materialized from the gloom, alerted from Natasha's initial gunfire. "Sorry!" It took Natasha a moment to recognize the speaker: _Lennox_. 

She turned away, already heading straight for the sliding back door, hopping over the shattered glass and through the yawning frame. "It's fine," she called over her shoulder, "That's the whole reason we keep Cap around anyway."

"Glad to know I'm useful." His dry comment echoed back to her as he moved to flank her.

She snapped her pistol up, expecting to find something, _anything_ , in the small yard. But it was empty...empty and deathly quiet.

Wanda was gone...and so was Barton.

Beside her, Rogers lowered his shield, his eyes critically scanning the empty yard and the scraggly trees that lined its perimeter. "What the hell happened?"

Her voice tight, Natasha met his gaze not bothering to hide her anxiety, " Ross took Wanda..." her mind shifted through earlier that afternoon, recalling Wanda's uncharacteristic silence, her lethargy, the vacancy in her gaze; understanding dawned. Nat swore heatedly and creatively in Russian, "That bastard drugged her...then he send his mob squad to come collect her like a prize."

From within the house, Lennox's voice echoed out of the deepening shadows. "Hate to disappoint you...but your S.H.I.E.L.D buddies didn't do this."

Curious, Rogers and Nat retreated back inside the house. As Nat moved to join Lennox, Rogers paused long enough to find a light switch.

Blinking in the sudden glare, Lennox methodically searched the form of the fallen operative. With movements tempered by frustration at the entire situation, Lennox ripped the fallen soldier's mission patch from his uniform. Standing, he held it out for his companions to see the bold words ' _Cemetery_ _Wind_ ' written above a jawless skull over a field of black and white. Lennox fisted it in his hand, crumpling the fabric, wishing he could erase it from existence.

"Damnit, Elena..." Lennox muttered to no one, "I warned you..."

Rogers read Lennox's expression, "Black ops?" He asked flatly.

Lennox nodded grimly, answering through clenched teeth, "This is Attinger's mercenary team. The one who's mission is to wipe out all Cybertronians. Decepticons...Autobots...all of them."

Unable to bear looking at the patch anymore, Lennox tucked it into his pocket, he had a feeling he'd need it later.

"You knew they were here?" Natasha asked grimly.

"No, but I had suspicions that Attinger was up to something. He's been lobbying for months to form a tactical ops team...I just didn't think he'd be able to actually do it..."

"What are we looking at here?" Rogers spoke up, weighing options.

"Mercenaries, mostly," Lennox answered woodenly, dread gnawing at his stomach, "Highly trained operatives that have been climatized to fighting Cybertronians."

"Does that extend to firepower, too?" Natasha couldn't help but ask.

Lennox nodded grimly, "These guys have the tech to take down an Autobot without a fuss...worse still...they're trigger happy."

"Nat!" The shout reached them from the backyard moments before Barton jogged into view, winded. At the sight of her old friend a knot of tension eased in Natasha.

He looked from Rogers, to Lennox, to Natasha, "You guys gotta get your hearing checked."

"Or you could learn how to use a phone," Nat quipped right back, "What the hell happened?"

"Any sign of Wanda or where they may have taken her?" Rogers demanded.

Barton shook his head, "I...I couldn't catch them..." he said between breaths, " I took out four of them...Cap," He met Rogers' gaze, " I don't think Ross did this...these guys were mercs."

"What kind of tracking capabilities do the 'bots have?" Rogers turned to Lennox, an idea forming.

"Hey Cap..." Barton huffed, " All we need to do is track my cell phone...I managed to slip it in their getaway car."

"Clint, you're amazing." Natasha grinned at him.

Barton adjusted his jacket, "I know."

Wasting no time, now it was Lennox who pulled out his phone, "Let me make a quick call, and I promise you we'll have wheels up in 5...Wherever they're headed, they won't get far."

Looking past Barton's shoulder, Rogers spoke, "I think quicker than that, Lennox."

Bumblebee's chorus of greeting chirps and whistles caused Barton to jump. Having maneuvered into the tiny yard with careful steps—how he did it was beyond Barton—Bumblebee chirped again, kneeling so his face was inches from The archer's.

"How does a giant robot move so silently?" He asked, making room for the Autobot Scout.

"Because Bee is the best there is," Lennox's tone was grim, "They took Wanda." He told the yellow Autobot.

" ' _Oh no they didn't_!' " Bee responded with the sound-clip as he deployed his battle mask, with another clip, he added, " _Let's go kick some ass_!"

"Really, Lennox? Bee's the best?" Came another sonorous voice, deep enough to only belong to an Autobot, "I mean, sure Bee's good, but I think he lacks a little firepower..." Rather than attempt to squeeze into the tiny yard, the robust and hunter green Autobot merely lumbered right through the surrounding trees, flattening most of the foliage. Rogers couldn't help but do a double take at this new arrival. He had assumed that he had already met all of the Autobots on base, and he certainly would have remembered such a... _distinctive_...looking Autobot. All of the other 'bots—at least those he had seen in their bipedal form—were sleek and moved with ease, they looked the part of a warrior. Their fluid designs left no doubt in his mind that these were beings fit for the demands of a lifetime spent in combat. But this new Autobot, clanking with weaponry of all shapes and sizes, haphazardly scattered about his frame and lumbering with every rolling step was...well...very _rotund_. As the alien moved closer, Rogers thought he could distinguish panels that resembled the tactical truck that had been parked outside his issued quarters. So, Lennox _had_ brought an Autobot with him...at least Rogers could take comfort in the knowledge that he was starting to recognize when a vehicle was something more than just a truck or car.

The green Autobot tilted his helm—one that looked suspiciously akin to a MICH ballistic helmet—in greeting. "Nice to meet you Mr. Captain Amazing." He met Rogers gaze, " Sorry I didn't get to meet ya when ya'll first arrived. They don't usually invite me to those shindigs 'cause I don't have pretty manners."

Barton didn't bother to try and hide his responding snicker, "Captain Amazing..."

"Hound, don't start..." Lennox told the Autobot as he stepped out of the house, Rogers and Natasha following at a more cautious distance. Stepping around Bumblebee, Lennox continued to address Hound, "Did you reach out to Prime?"

"You betcha," The burly Autobot shifted his metalloid cy-gar to the corner of his wide mouth, "He knows, and he's pissed." Hoisting his favored plasma launcher, Hound regarded them seriously, "For their sake, these particular scum-bags better hope we get to them before Prime does. Things can get right ugly when you piss off the Boss Bot. Now, you coming or not? There's bad guys that need blowin' up."

"Hound..." Lennox's voice was stern as he spoke over the sound of Bumblebee's transformation, "This is a rescue op, remember?"

"Yeah, that too," Hound replied offhandedly, "But mostly the first part with the explosions and kickin' ass." He added with a wink.


	17. Chapter 17

The moment Attinger sank down into the leather seating of his SUV, he pulled out his cell phone. Signaling the driver to depart, he wasted no time selecting the contact he wanted—or rather, at the very least needed, since he would really rather have nothing to do with this particular asset. But he wanted this call to be completed before they picked Joyce up; the less the other man knew, the better. Yet, even as eager as he was for this call to be over, his fingertip ghosted over the screen, hesitating to touch the surface and actually dial.

It was like this every time.

Attinger was a man well acclimated to many things, and being in control of every situation was one of them. But when it came to the asset…there was nothing Attinger could do to assert control, no guarantees of his commands being carried out, or even listened to. And if there was one thing Harold Attinger hated more than aliens, it was being unable to have the surety of control, of command. Knowing there was no help for it, that in order to combat the true enemy, he would have to continue to accept this necessary evil, Attinger made the call.

Almost instantly, he was answered. The rolling growl of the asset's voice wrested Attinger's attention away from his previous musings. It was dangerous not to give the asset his full, undivided attention.

"What is it?" The rumbling timber barked.

Attinger didn't allow himself to be thrown by the other's aggressive tone. After all, he was no stranger to intimidation either, "My men are on their way to the rendezvous point with the package. I need you there on the ground in case this goes south."

"I am not another one of your war dogs to command, Attinger."

"This is worth your while," Attinger pushed.

" I don't see how it could be. After all this time, you have failed to deliver anything of interest to me. Your intelligence has been useless. Or is there such a thing as intelligence on this dirt ball of a planet?"

Attinger refused to be baited, "You want a shot at some Autobots or not?"

There was a brief pause, filled with the deep silence of intense focus as the vast intelligence on the other end of the line at last gave Attinger his full attention. Even though the other didn't speak, Attinger knew he had snared the alien's interest.

"I promised you open access to our intel, I promised you first shot at any alien combatants. Here's your chance. Now are you going to be there or not?"

There was a brief, considering pause: "You may have finally proved your usefulness. I will be there."

"Fine." Attinger worked to keep his tone even, "But I want my target protected."

"Your mission means little to me. There are more important things at stake in the universe than your petty grievances."

" _Lockdown_!" Attinger snarled, "You will honor our deal. In exchange for helping to secure the package, I am offering you the chance to engage the Autobots. Do you understand?"

"I understand more than you ever could, human." With that, Lockdown cut the communication, and Attinger couldn't help but swear softly.

It was then that he noticed his vehicle had slowed to a stop. Expectantly, he looked out the window to see Joyce briskly walking towards the SUV, a small duffle bag in tow. As the other man approached, Attinger worked to convince himself that he had wrested a semblance of control over the situation. Because if he didn't, there was no telling what the next few hours would bring. So, instead of miring himself in doubt, Attinger allowed himself to believe he had succeeded. After all, if Lockdown failed to honor their agreement, he would simply deal with him the same way he intended to deal with all of the alien combatants.

Because Harold Attinger did not tolerate failure.

# # #

It did not take long for the pavement to become consumed by rough gravel, and it wasn't much longer after that before it was swallowed entirely by the low, rolling terrain of the island. Night had fallen completely when Lennox called for a halt, deciding it would be better to continue on foot. After all, this enabled to bots to transform, and unburdened by their human passengers, they would be able to respond much quicker to any sudden threats; their reflexes wouldn't fail where their human counterparts' might.

"Ugh…" Hound grumped, " I hate all this sneakin' 'round. You know what starts a party off right? A grenade. Works every time."

" You can't fight your way through everything," Natasha told the hunter green Autobot. Although her words were directed at the robotic being, it was Rogers who felt the sting of her words as he walked in silence beside her.

" 'Course I can. There's nothing a little firepower can't fix," Hound told her confidently.

In the darkness, Barton smirked, "I get the feeling you and Tony would have gotten along really well."

Rogers hated to admit how grateful he was for the abrupt end to the conversation as they felt, rather than heard the low rumble of approaching engines. "Hit the dirt!" Lennox hissed, just moments before a caravan of military trucks, followed by a black SUV surged over a hill and into view. After a few tense minutes, the line of cars turned and disappeared into a shallow valley.

"Friends of ours?" Natasha whispered, sarcasm coloring her words.

"What do you see, Bee?" Lennox asked of the yellow Autobot, who had similarly flattened himself against the hard packed dirt as best he could. Laying beside the Autobot made Natasha feel all too aware of just how small she was in comparison.

"Looks like the party is about to get started," Hound rumbled as quietly as he could and Romanoff couldn't help but notice the green Autobot hadn't bothered to try and lay down. Instead he knelt awkwardly several paces behind them, trusting the darkness to largely conceal his bulky presence. With a quiet rattle of metal, she heard a distinctive click as Hound reached over to his side, pulling a grenade free, "Good thing I got our invitation right here."

Barton met Romanoff's gaze, "Whatever happens…" he told her quietly, " he goes first."

Apparently, Hound wasn't offended in the least, "Good idea. I love being the biggest target. It guarantees that I have enough bad guys to shoot at."

Rogers would have been incredibly concerned about the Autobot's focus—not to say that he already wasn't—if Lennox hadn't simply rolled his eyes at the mech's pronouncement and ignored it. If the N.E.S.T. commander wasn't taking Hound seriously, Rogers would do his best to not read too much into the mech's words.

Silencing them with a gesture, Lennox indicated for the ragtag bunch to belly crawl forward, toward the crest of the small hill they had taken refuge behind. Rogers wasn't really surprised when the bots held back, given that they were slightly more conspicuous. As he moved forward, he wished again that he had thought to grab his tactical gear. Dressed as he was in nondescript sneakers, jeans and a plain black shirt left him feeling vulnerable; unconsciously, he tightened his grip on his shield.

"Captain, this is your call…" Lennox murmured, turning over command without hesitation. This was about one of the Captain's people—not that he didn't care about Wanda, or wasn't concerned about her—he just knew what it meant to Rogers to be able to call the shots. Had it been Epps, or any of N.E.S.T.'s human personal, Lennox would have wanted to be the one holding the reigns.

Silently, Rogers looked over the scene below. Judging from the collection of tactical vehicles, the quality of weapons the few and well placed guards boasted of, and the three helicopters nestled closest to the shore , it was a small operation—which allowed for better mobility, and greater stealth—but it was obviously a well funded one. Which made him seriously reconsider the possibility of S.H.I.E.L.D. involvement. Whoever funded this unit, had deep pockets.

Rogers felt a firm tap on his shoulder and turned towards Barton. The archer wordlessly pointed out various positions in the low terrain where concealed guards had been placed. Rogers counted six, although he was sure the archer would take care of any he wasn't aware of. Although he didn't speak, Hawkeye's question was easy to elucidate: _let me clear the perimeter._ Soundlessly, Rogers nodded consent, and without hesitation Barton picked up his bow and melted into the darkness. Moments later, Rogers thought he heard the soft hiss of a bowstring, but he couldn't be sure.

Nat smirked and commented, "Hound is going to be upset that Barton got to go first." Hearing her, Lennox snorted into the dirt, and then hastily worked to silence the cough that resulted.

Nat leaned toward both career soldiers, "I don't think a smash and grab job will fly here, Cap. We're a little out gunned and out manned."

Lennox was quick to reply, "We're not out gunned." He told her sharply, before he regarded Rogers, " If you want a smash and grab job, these are the bots to do it."

"I believe you, Will…" Steve answered, " but I don't want to risk any retaliation against Wanda. Better to keep the bots back, and see if we can't move in unnoticed." Knowing they had to move quickly to keep the element of surprise, Rogers leaned over first toward Lennox, who lay on his left, and then to Romanoff, who crouched on his right.

"Lennox, you're with me…Nat, circle around toward the right. We need to cut off any chance of escape."

"You're thinking those choppers are their means of getting to a ship?" Lennox asked.

Nat answered for him, " They're short range birds, and it stands to reason they'd probably have a freighter standing by." She shrugged, " I would have used a sub…"

"We need to disable those helicopters." Rogers moved to push himself up from the ground—and narrowly avoided smacking into Bumblebee. In surprise, he twisted onto his side and stared up at the mech. The yellow scout had crept up to their vantage point and had crouched directly over them.

All of it without Rogers or Natasha even noticing.

If ever there was a time to be unsettled by an Autobot's proximity, it was then, with the bot's frame suspended mere handspans above him. It occurred to Steve in that moment that all Bumblebee had to do was relax his arms and the humans beneath him would be crushed under the weight of his frame. Unbidden, tension from such a realization seized Roger's muscles, kicking up his heart rate a notch.

Bumblebee looked down, his soft blue gaze meeting Steve's, as he shuttered his optics in consideration at the human below.

As if from a great distance, Rogers heard Lennox say in an attempt to prompt the other, "What do you want Bee to do, Captain?"

"Cap…" Nat spoke slowly, and Rogers could heard the strain in her typically unflappable tone. _Well, at least he wasn't the only one unsettled by Bee's proximity and unnerving ability to move so damn quietly._ Nat swallowed thickly, "Maybe something a little more obvious might not be such a bad idea. Why not let the bots blow something up? I'm sure Hound would appreciate it and a diversion would be useful. "

With a mental shake, Rogers steadied himself. He wouldn't be much use to anyone if he continued to allow himself to be mentally thrown every time an Autobot showed up. So, strapping some proverbial steel to his spine, he met Bee's gaze. "What do you think, Bee?" He asked the looming Autobot, "think you and Hound can take out those helicopters?"

Enthusiastically, he young scout bobbed his head and chirped softly. Rogers felt the vibrations in the dirt beneath him as Bumblebee stood and retreated to update Hound on their objective.

Or rather, he thought those vibrations had been from the Autobot's movements.

"Oh _shit_ …" Natasha breathed.

Hearing the tightness in her voice, Steve snapped his head around to once more look down into the encampment below. It was just in time to witness the citrine beam of light split the darkness, neatly cutting through the tail section of the first helicopter. Over the shouts and sudden chaos of the mercenaries scrambling to arm themselves, there was the sensation of the air itself rippling away from them, as something moved incredibly fast over head. Whatever it was landed in the dead center of the camp with enough force to kick up a cloud of dust and debris, momentarily shielding it from view.

It didn't matter. Rogers knew who had just arrived.

With stealth thrown to the wind, Rogers sprang to his feet, "New plan," he barked, "provide support and cover Vision!"

# # #

Beside Attinger, Joyce was rocked by the sudden impact, "What the hell was that?"

Attinger grit his teeth together, " _that_ , is the reason my asset is here."

His expression stoney, Attinger turned, looking for the tactical commander amongst the throng of operatives. Finding him, Harold stalked toward the man and roughly grabbed a fist full of the soldier's vest, "Take that thing down, and secure the package on my helicopter _now_!"

Curtly, the mercenary—a battled hardened soldier in his own right named Tobias— nodded and begin barking out commands as he disappeared into the chaos that had erupted as his unit opened fired at the unexpected intruder.

"Now what?" Joyce's voice was shrill with fear, and in that moment Attinger loathed him.

But knowing that he still needed Joyce, and recognizing that the CEO of KSI was an important piece in the long game that he was playing, Attinger roughly gestured for Joyce to follow him. Pulling a concealed gun from his jacket, Harold broke into a run. With one helicopter down, they only had two chances now to get off of this wretched base. And Attinger wasn't about to stick around long enough to feel the backlash of his actions. No, he intended for Ross to get stuck holding that particular bill when it came due.

# # #

Descending into the commotion at Rogers' heels, it didn't take Lennox long to figure out why he was known as the super soldier. Hell, in the time it took for Lennox to take out three mercenaries—he prided himself on being a damn good shot—the Captain had barreled, literally, through nine.

At this rate, he wouldn't even need to use a full clip of ammo!

Overhead, he heard Hound's joyful battle cry, " _C'mon and get some!_ " his words punctuated by a chain of explosions from his favored grenades. And there, sure enough, following in the bot's footsteps was Barton. His bowstring humming as he released arrow after arrow, each one finding its intended target. Catching sight of Lennox, Barton shrugged, "I told you, the big guy goes first!"

But all sense of levity was knocked out of Lennox—literally.

In the space of one second to the next, something slammed into him, knocking the air from his lungs as he tumbled to the ground. Lennox rolled over just in time to narrowly avoid the slashing set of claws that raked through the air, exactly where his face had been seconds before. A wet snarl accompanied the powerful set of jaws that loomed over the N.E.S.T. commander. Despite the fact that it looked like a hound straight from his worst nightmare, Lennox recognized a Decepticon when he saw one.

It looked like he was going to need that clip of ammo after all.


End file.
